


The Party on Marigold Boulevard

by FreckledSkittles



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/F, F/M, Flirting, House Party, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Sexual Tension, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, might change in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 80,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: It was supposed to be a farewell to high school, a welcome to college, a beginning into adulthood. That's how they planned it. But when they put it into motion, it became independent, formed a mind of its own, and tried to destroy them. What else were they to do, when the person beside them is someone they've been eyeing for the past few days—months—years?Twelve friends throw a party that gets out of hand. They would blame themselves, but everyone else is sad and no one knows how to move on. How did they get here?





	1. The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally an idea of a JeanMarco three-parter that got absolutely nowhere bc I didn't know what to do with it. But this idea came to mind instead, so I'm writing this.
> 
> An alternate title for this is: "I Procrastinated And Can't Write My Superhero Fic Right Now So I'm Going to Start a New Series and Hope It Doesn't Destroy Me"
> 
> CAUTION WARNING for mentions to self-harm and mental health stuff. Mostly at the end of the chapter.

Bertholdt hadn't thought that his first week of being official boyfriends with Reiner would have ended in the Springer family's backyard, squeezed together on a lawn chair with arms enveloped to prevent the other from rolling over and legs tangled together. It might not have been their strangest predicament, in reference to their friendship since they were toddlers in California and the steamy flings and dances around each other that took up all of high school in Nashville. But the drinks around them reminded Bert of the party—a joyful one that ended in disaster—that was their supposed end-all of parties. A goodbye to high school, a greeting to university, and a baby step to adulthood. That was the tagline, and they had certainly reached that point.

Never mind that, though. There were more important things to worry about, like how his phone was probably dead or blown up with a thousand messages from both sets of parents, or both. And there were more important things to focus on, like how his arm was asleep after being pressed under the head of a possible candidate for the Guinness World Record holder for deepest sleeper, or how peaceful Reiner looked when he was sleeping despite all the problems that plagued him, from the drama of his mother's family to the truth on his absent father's whereabouts.

Not wanting to startle his official week-long boyfriend, Bertholdt snuggled beside Reiner and rested his chin on top of his head. He could handle being jammed into a lawn chair that was too small for a lanky beanpole giant and a slightly shorter mass of muscle, as long as he could be with Reiner.

He dozed off lightly until Reiner stirred beneath him, gruffly snorting into his shoulder and nuzzling his nose against him. Bertholdt chuckled and pressed a kiss on top of his head. Hopefully, they had had enough water before bed to clear any threat of a hangover. "Good morning."

Reiner sat up briefly to look up at him, hazel eyes swimming in different shades of blue and green, but he returned back to hiding his face in his neck. The arms around Bertholdt's waist squeezed him closer, if it was even possible. "Five more minutes," he mumbled. "Go back to sleep, Bertl."

"I tried, but my arm hurts." Bertholdt shifted said limb to prove his point. Reiner, pouting, pressed a kiss against the inside of his elbow. "Are you hungry?"

"Nope." It was a lie; Reiner's eyebrow twitched, and his fingers drummed lightly against his back. "And neither are you."

"Reiner, c'mon—"

"Just a few more minutes." This time, when hazel fixed their gaze on him, it was in soft pleading, a silent beg to give in. "I want to be with you and not worry about what happened last night or what will happen this morning for a few more minutes."

Well. At least Reiner was just as reluctant to discuss or think of last night as much as he was, big brother instincts or not. Their friend group had nearly imploded on itself last night, with fighting and screaming and threats to end it all. The self-proclaimed "Y2K12" planned a fun night to celebrate a summer of change and it nearly ended them.

Bertholdt couldn't argue with him. He settled back against his boyfriend, one hand running through his hair while the other regained regular blood flow. Reiner shut his eyes, resting but not asleep, content to lie next to him in the tiny space with cramped legs and the overlying doom of their responsibilities. As long as they got something out of it.

A few minutes later, the sliding glass door opened, and a black-and-white Great Dane barreled out onto the deck. Spike greeted the couple with sniffs and grins before he dashed down to the grass and searched for a spot to pee. A scraggly brunette staggered after him and sat on the steps, leaning against the banister. Bertholdt raised his head to look at the newcomer.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, quiet enough to not disturb them but loud enough to hear.

Sasha turned around to look at him and groaned in response, draping herself along the deck's steps. "Everything hurts."

"Join the club," Reiner grumbled. Bertholdt pecked his temple for reassurance, earning a nuzzle in thanks.

She sprawled out on her back and stared at the sky with a low moan. Spike, refreshed, bounded up the steps and laid down beside her, resting his head on her stomach. As lazy as it was, her hand patted his head in thanks. "He slept with me all night. I think Connie hates me for it."

"Connie doesn't hate you." Reiner finally detached himself from Bertholdt and sat up as best he could in the chair. "He's upset with himself, if anything."

"That doesn't help either!"

Bertholdt pushed himself up, his hands instantly gravitating to Reiner's hips, and looked over at Sasha. She had busied herself with petting Spike, who was more than happy to aid in distracting her. Her ponytail was barely present, and strands of hair hung out at different angles. Whatever was holding the hairtie in place was knotted and sloppy. Bertholdt noticed her clothes were still soaked in whatever alcoholic drink had fallen on her. "Is anyone else up?"

"Armin, I think, but he didn't say anything," Sasha frowned. She looked up at the two with hope, as if they had the answers to all her problems. "I don't even  _know_  what happened with him and Eren."

Reiner shook his head and leaned back so that he fell into Bert's arms. "It's all for another time, Sash. Now, we gotta move on."

Sasha didn't like that answer, judging by the harsh pout and grumble of Yankee-laced words. But if she had a point to protest, she didn't make it known to them. There were a lot of things that happened last night that no one knew about. Before everything centralized after the party had ended, there were separate events that occurred  _during_  the party. It was near-impossible for any one of them to know the exact details of every situation last night.

Reiner was the first to stand, stumbling and catching himself. Spike hopped up to greet him properly despite Sasha's accusations of treason. Bertholdt followed suit, with a little help from his boyfriend. Reiner pursed his lips and wiggled his eyebrows, and Bert kissed him in thanks.

"Your breath stinks," the blond teased. Bertholdt smacked his shoulder.

"At least you two are happy," Sasha pointed out. "You're the only ones who are unscathed from all this."

"Not anymore," Reiner declared. He dragged Bertholdt, and Spike and Sasha indirectly, towards the door. "We're gonna cash in a favor for greasy food and move on from this, okay?"

The inside of the house was a mess, just as Bertholdt remembered leaving it. Alcohol bottles and red solo cups were strewn everywhere, accompanied by spills and an unwelcome stench. Food that wasn't worth saving sat out in the early afternoon rays, and empty uncleaned bowls reminded everyone of a job to be done. Party decorations were, for the most part, out of their original state: streamers were falling off the walls, balloons had deflated sadly to the ground, a sea of confetti covered the hardwood floor. Freida, the family cat, had made a bed on rainbow tissue paper, curled up and snoozing as if a pre-college, post-high school party had never happened.

Armin was, indeed, awake, but he was sitting at the tiny kitchen table and staring at the curves in the wood. His hair was pulled back from his face, probably newly done judging by how neat it was and how tired he looked. Eren and Mikasa were on the couch, sharing the same blanket but on different sides. On the inflatable mattress, Jean and Ymir were still passed out, the spot between them previously occupied by Sasha now taken by their limbs. If Bertholdt's memory served him correctly, Annie, Armin, and Marco had been put in the basement, and Krista—Historia, right, she didn't hide her name anymore—had shared a bed with Connie, who was coming out from his bedroom right as the trio from outside entered the house. As soon as Connie looked up at them, Sasha ducked her head and stood behind them.

"Hey, Mom and Dad," he teased quietly. His bird Cheryl danced on his shoulder, feathers fluffing out as he spoke. His voice sounded raspy, probably from the water he refused to drink. Bertholdt wouldn't be surprised if he had a raging headache to match. "Got any good news?"

"We're cashing in a favor," Reiner stated as he walked to the kitchen, Spike trotting after him. With her cover gone, Sasha jumped behind Bertholdt. "Text Petra or someone, will you? Their people owe me."

Connie laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "I don't know where my phone is." Cheryl squawked and flapped her wings, crying out "Phone! Phone!" as she did. Connie shushed her and headed back to her room, but the four passed-out bodies were already stirring.

"I didn't ask for a wake-up call," Ymir groaned. Her stretched arms whacked Jean in the face, who growled at her and dragged the blanket over his head.

"I can call Hanji," Armin admitted with a sigh, but as he stood to retrieve it, Eren hopped to his feet.

"What would you do that for?" He demanded. His voice was rushed and hurried, as if he was running out of time. "We don't need to call them. That's dumb, why would you think that?"

Before Armin could say anything, Reiner was stepping between them with hands raised and smile ready. Bertholdt saw that he had thrown himself into Big Brother mode and only hoped he wouldn't tire himself out. "I needed a favor, man, it's okay—"

At his reassurance, Eren flinched and backed away, dropping back down on the couch. "Don't call me that right now."

Reiner blinked, the gears in his head going off in different directions, but kept his smile up. "My bad; I'm sorry. I just…need a pizza. Okay? Greasy foods help hangovers. Erwin and Mike owe me one, but we don't have to call them. We can try Eld, or Petra—"

"They're too close to Le—" Eren cut himself off, biting his lip and hanging his head. Tears welled in his eyes but didn't spill, held back by the teeth digging into flesh. He caught the attention of Mikasa, who sat up quickly to check on him, but he turned away and ducked back under his side of the blanket.

"Can we get Domino's?" Sasha asked, but Connie had come back, without Cheryl, and she disappeared behind Bert again.

"I thought I said no wake-up calls," Ymir snarled from the mattress. She tossed the extra pillow at the retreating form of the brunette, but Bertholdt caught it before it made contact. Ymir focused whatever anger had been dormant from last night on him. "What the fuck was  _that_  for, turtle?!"

That was the last straw for Reiner's already thin patience, as he grabbed the pillow from Bertholdt and flung it back at Ymir. "No one is going to yell at each other right now, okay? We're gonna drink some coffee, we're gonna get some pizza, and we're gonna sit at the fucking table like normal friends do and enjoy our shitty meal." Everyone in the room was staring at him now, fear or hangover aside, and even the duo from the basement and  ~~Krista~~  Historia from Connie's room had emerged at the commotion in silence. "And if anyone has a problem with this plan, you can shut up about it, because I am  _not_  going to have a repeat of last night and let us fall apart."

Ymir bowed her head, but her scowl was still in place. Connie was focused on Sasha, who was too busy looking at Reiner to notice him. Jean peeked out from his blanket, but instantly ducked down once Reiner mentioned him.

"Mikasa, can you help Jean with his black eye?"

Mikasa nodded, but Jean snorted and shuffled in his spot. "I don't need help," he grumbled.

"I'll grab the medical supplies," Annie offered. Mikasa looked at her hesitantly, but she stood up and nodded, and Annie disappeared down the hall. It took her a single pull on Jean's arm to get him to stand up, draping the covers over his shoulders like a cape, and lead him to the bathroom. At least the bruise on his eye didn't look as bad as it had; hopefully, the damage from his fall would be just as minor.

Marco looked up as Jean passed him, and the two made eye contact for a brief moment, frozen in place and probably recapping the night before. A nudge from Mikasa and soft assurance got the blond moving again, but Marco watched them leave in quiet whispers to one another. Ymir watched the exchange, knees drawn to her chest and hands digging into her shins. Bertholdt caught their actions instantly and jumped right alongside Reiner in parent-mode.

"Ymir, you and Marco can call Nanaba for us," he said. "She'll know if we can cash in Reiner's favor now." It would be good to get their minds thinking of something else other than last night. And once Marco agreed, with a hazy nod and a distant look in his eyes, Ymir followed suit. They retreated to the backyard; Sasha hurried after them, offering to help them navigate the Domino's website and menu.

Reiner, as soon as Sasha went outside and closed the door behind her, hurried over to Connie and led him and Armin to the kitchen, asking them both about the types of mugs each person would need and the best way to label them.  ~~Krista~~  Historia, left in the hallway, looked between Bertholdt and Eren before she sat in one of the loveseats. Bertholdt joined her, greeting a stretching Frieda on the way.

"So," Historia said. Her makeup from last night remained on her face, told by the smears of lipstick and eyeliner, but she had pulled her hair out of her face for the time being. "Did you sleep well, Bert?"

Bertholdt waited for Frieda to crawl into his lap and get comfortable before he answered. Being with cats always helped calm his nerves. He hadn't realized how strung up he had been until he sat down. He could only imagine how Reiner was feeling; he reminded himself to do something nice for his boyfriend later, in thanks. "It was really cramped," he admitted. "Never pass out on lawn chairs that aren't made for six-foot-tall bodies."

Historia laughed under her breath. "I would have switched, if I had known."  _If I hadn't been drunk_  is what she probably wanted to say. But Bertholdt didn't correct her, and he didn't bring it up.

"Did you sleep okay?"

After last night, Bertholdt was hyperaware of others' actions and reactions to things. Like how Ymir was extremely protective of Marco, like he was a brother. Or how Armin was more clueless on Eren than he, or anyone, thought. Or how Historia had so many secrets hidden away, it was hard to see who she was. The consistent story of a rich white girl from Vermont was slowly dissipating, after she left her family behind and started using her birth name for the first time since she had arrived in Nashville. Whatever she said, he took cautiously. "I didn't sleep last night."

"Oh."

"Not because of what happened. It's something else."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He didn't get an answer; he took it as a no. Instead, she reached over and gently scratched under Frieda's chin, whispering sweet words to her.

Ymir, Marco, and Sasha reentered the house, with news that Nanaba was putting the pizza order in and would deliver it herself. Reiner thanked them thoroughly. Sasha got out of the circle of people as soon as she could, despite Connie calling after her. Armin gathered his attention again; at the sound of his voice, Eren shuffled under the blanket and curled into a tighter ball.

Spike padded into the room and jumped on the couch to quietly ask for Eren's attention. A tan hand reached out and scratched behind his ear, his reward being slobbery licks to his fingers. Bertholdt noticed the pale marks on his exposed wrist and petted Frieda to stop himself from touching his own; there was so much hurt around them. Individually, the trouble they went through should have broken them. Maybe that's what last night was: a rising tidal wave that built up all the energy it could find, and then released itself onto land that couldn't support it and gave way instantly. They were all held down by their own tidal waves, unable to ask one another for help, lost on what to do.

Reiner got Armin and Connie to clean the dining room table off as best they could and set it for their lunch while he made coffee. Marco must have caught the hint on making himself busy, as he did his best to clean up. Historia decided to help him when Ymir entered the room, crawling back under her makeshift sleeping arrangement for the time being. Eren was too preoccupied with Spike, sitting up to hug the Great Dane and kiss his nose, to notice anyone. Bertholdt tried his best to clean the living room, with a little help from Frieda and her golden eyes widening with every pounce she took at the decorations. Bt the time Nanaba arrived, the bathroom crew had returned, the rooms were somewhat cleaned up, and Reiner had gotten everyone seated in spots as far away from their conflicts as possible, which was a harder feat on its own. It meant that he and Bertholdt had to sit at the head of the table instead of together, but it was a sacrifice that was worth it.

"Wow," Nanaba said as she stepped inside, hands full of pizza boxes. The kitchen led to the dining room, providing her with a perfect view of the table. "Coming from someone who goes to a party school, this place is a mess."

"Yeah, we're trying," Reiner laughed and took the pizzas away from her so she could greet Spike appropriately.

"How'd it go?"

"Terrible, thanks for asking." His remark resulted in a confused expression, quirked eyebrow and all. "Once we figure it out, anyone who wants to tell you guys is welcome to."

"Good, because we can help you out. I mean, if you knew the amount of times Auruo and Lynne have had to stop a brawl between Levi and Mike, I could—"

"Yeah, that's a nice story!" Reiner cut her off; he didn't have to look at Eren to see him tense up. "You can tell it another time."

Nanaba didn't ask, but her suspicious looks at the rest of the table told them all that whatever had happened wasn't going to stay hidden from long. The Vets, as they were dubbed, were simply a group of college students who were a few years older than the twelve. They had gone to the same high school and had gotten close when Levi and Eren dated for a year. When the Vets went off to college and gained experience, they helped the younger ones find their college choices and how to pay for it. They were all close with someone, all split into their own friendly groups of late-night texts and meme-sendings. Although having a party with over twenty people was difficult to plan and host, and that bash wasn't set until the end of June, before the Vets returned to their respected universities for RA training.

With thanks and goodbyes following her out the door, Nanaba left them to silence. Reiner and Bertholdt served slices and refilled drinks as quickly as they could before they sat down to eat, only able to share brief touches in passing from the kitchen to the dining room. The table was meant for six people and had to accommodate for half of that number, but they worked with what they had.

The air that the twelve ate in was stiff with the unspoken tension. It wasn't hard to see that everyone's minds were focused on last night and how to handle it. They shared shifting glances with each other: some in suspicion or disdain, others as silent pleas to say  _something_  to them. But no one was ready to take the first step, or, worse, face the wrath of a brotherly figure who wasn't going to stand for any bullshit. When Sasha sniffled and bowed her head, he shared a look with Bertholdt, a silent plea that whatever was about to happen wouldn't break the group any more.

"What's wrong, Sash?" Reiner asked.

"We shouldn't be eating Domino's like this," she whined. "Garlic crust is supposed to be a happy thing."

" _Cállate_ ," Ymir grumbled.

Sasha huffed and dropped her pizza to glare at her. "Hey, I know that word. And you shouldn't say anything, because you upset Marco earlier—"

"Sasha,  _please_ ," Marco begged, his eyes shut and his head bowed, "don't bring it up." He grabbed Ymir's hand and pulled it towards him before she could raise it and make her argument. At his touch, she slowed and calmed down, at least enough to become aware of her surroundings. "And don't fight anyone."

The silence returned. It felt like the room was going to burst. Some got another slice, but for the most part, everyone was still. Bertholdt thought that they were in the clear, but then Connie was speaking again, and his hope was gone.

"Sasha," he said. At her name, the brunette kept her mug to her lips even though she wasn't drinking it. "Why won't you look at me?"

"We talked about this, remember?"  ~~Krista~~  Historia whispered to him, but he shook his head.

"I don't wanna wait until things calm down. I wanna find out  _now_."

"Rishaan," Reiner spoke up, and Connie gulped. He asked them all to use his birth name only at serious points, as an indicator to grow up for a minute and listen. "We can talk about everything another day, okay? Let's just try and breathe and get back on track."

"What's wrong with today?" Annie asked. It wasn't surprising that she had spoken up this time; she was always forward in addressing conflicts. But her words could be taken as a direct prod to rile up Reiner. And if that was her plan, it worked.

"A lot is wrong with today. It's a day after a fight that ended our party that was supposed to be good but ended in disaster. We nearly broke the Springer's shrine, five light bulbs, all of their nice plates—not to mention riling the dog up and almost giving the rabbit a heart attack, or how That One Pet gave one of us a panic attack,  _or_  that we almost let their birds loose if it weren't for me and Bert interfering and bringing all of us together for one big family meeting that ended in a brawl, four sleeping arrangements, and an uncomfortable sleeping position that was only worth it because I had someone else to suffer with. But hey, if you guys wanna get our problems out in the open and do it right here, with only two hours left before the Springers come home to this shit house and ban us forever, then hey," Reiner sat back and crossed his arms, looking over the guests with a bemused but threatening expression, "let's do it."

It was a long-awaited rant; Reiner always pushed himself to do good for others, even if it meant forgetting about himself. It was unhealthy, and Bertholdt talked to him about it in and out of their relationship, but he knew it wasn't enough. It was simply who he was, his character, the way he was made. He cared about his friends and wanted the absolute best for them, and it was his call that brought them together in that brawl. Bertholdt wished he could hold his hand or something—anything would do—to make him not feel like a failure. Not when his aunt kicked him out for being the gay bastard; not when he found his father, alive and active and wishing to see him after so many years of being blocked. Not when he had Bertholdt to be by his side, like old times, like he always did.

Bert noticed, from beside him, Eren pull his hands under the table. His thumbs pressed together, but the nails slipped and occasionally pressed into the soft flesh. Maybe it wasn't right, but Bertholdt stretched out his hand under the table, as if offering a hand to hold. It put his wrist in perfect view of Eren's eyes, a thought that made the familiar anxiety well in his throat, but he pushed through it. Outside of his family, only Reiner and Annie knew about his wrists, a solemn symbol of how much his anxiety affected him. When he broke into the habit around Annie or Reiner, they held his hands to help quell the urge and offered to talk him through it. Some things were easier to discuss than others.

Eren glanced down at the hand and paused at his wrist, eyeing the faded marks. He was glued to them, fully wrapped in what must have been familiar reminders. Bertholdt didn't know what he was fighting mentally, but he hoped he wasn't making a wrong move or being offensive. Upsetting Eren any more than he already was would only make everything worse.

"I don't know what my gender is."

The eyes in the room turned to Eren as he—they—spoke. Emerald eyes kept looking downward as their tan hand tangled with Bert's for a brief moment and squeezed. It was as much of a thank you as he would get, in that moment. It was fine for him.

Eren looked up at the others with reassurance, eyes blazing, fingers still in their lap. "I haven't told Levi. And I don't know if I'm ready to date him."

Reiner looked worried at the confession, but not because of what he said; much of it had been confirmed from the words shared last night. What had him scared was how they were going to handle this. It could end up in another fight or, on a lesser scale, a peaceful resolution. Whether it was worth it to mention Last Night again, and so soon, was anyone's guess. It looked like they would just have to try and see.

 ~~Krista~~  Historia was the next to speak, clearing her throat and sitting up straight. "I'm getting tested for bipolar next week. Ymir's parents are helping me pay for it. Because I'm cutting as many ties with my family as I can."

None of them were perfect. They were thrown at each other four years ago in the hopes of making friendship stick, and it took a year to get it to work. They kept each other up through ACTs and lunch periods, AP tests and scholarship applications, and the general horrible atmosphere of high school. Now, with the stickiness fading as they officially traveled to college, everything was changing. Just last week, Bertholdt recalled, the troubles they had accumulated were tucked away and addressed only when it became too loud to hide. Otherwise, time together was time together. Nothing could disrupt it.

_How did we get here?_


	2. The Starting Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it started. How twelve found their way in an overcrowded, disrupting house party that should have ended on a positive note. And how twelve could be so blind and ignorant to the problems at their core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly so surprised at the response this first chapter has gotten. I mean, wow! Thank you all!
> 
> So a tiny spoiler alert, this chapter takes place BEFORE the party/previous chapter. I guess it could have been the first chapter, but where's the fun in that? ;) Plus, it's got pretty Reibert and a shitton of texting. Whoa!
> 
> I hope this isn't too long a chapter. When I wrote this, it felt like it was two miles long :S But I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Everything came back to the group chat.

It was a Sunday evening. Bertholdt and his younger brother Daniel had been recruited by his stepmom Catalina to help make _bistec a caballo_ , a dish from her home country. His dad was at the dining room table teaching the Hebrew alphabet to Sofia, the latest edition to their family. Reiner, recently kicked out by his aunt after overhearing his mother ask about his (ended) relationship with Bert, was helping the two youngest Hoover brothers with their homework. Bertholdt had seen him glance up at him multiple times, ever since he had left to help in the kitchen, but kept himself from commenting.

"Bert, if you don't know how to fry an egg, how are you going to find a nice boy?" Catalina scolded him for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. She shooed him away from the stovetop. "Daniel can do a better job than this."

"I know, I'm the favorite," Daniel said with a smirk, already starting to chop the second tomato for the _hogao_. "You can say it, Lina."

"But that would be lying," Bertholdt said, smirking at his brother, who stuck his tongue out in retaliation. Free of responsibility for the moment, and taking the opportunity to catch a breath, Bert pulled out his phone to find a slew of texts from his friends in their famed group chat. Ever since they discovered just how many people could be put into one group, the famed "Y2K12" was on full blast and had no known stopping point. Which, unfortunately for someone like Bertholdt, provided an entertaining but equally stressful stream of conversation.

 **_sashay:_ ** _when everyone has a minute i wanna talk about smth_

 **_annie:_ ** _sorry i'm super busy right now_

 **_eerien:_ ** _mikas walking lola but i can tell her l8r  
_ _whats good sausa_

 **_sashay:_ ** _NO.  
_ _im waiting til everyone responds_

 **_charmin':_ ** _Please no._

 **_sashay:_ ** _8 to go!  
_ _*7 bc mika_

 **_annie:_ ** _eren tell lola i love her but tell mikasa i hate her_

 **_the con man:_ ** _always up for a chat w/ my dudes_

 _ **miriam:** srry busy ant talk_  
_**cant_  
_dont type w one hand kis_

 **_eerien:_ ** _y ru typing with one hand_

 **_miriam:_ ** _coming from a guy w terrybull gramma  
_ _im bussy_

 **_jean boi:_ ** _ten bucks says shes masturbating_

 **_sashay:_ ** _are you speaking from experience orrrrr_

**_the con man: *smirk emoji*_ **

**_jean boi:_ ** _wow  
_ _how do you delete someone else's text_

"Bert, pay attention!"

Bertholdt nearly dropped his phone as Daniel shoved the bags of pounded steaks into his arms. He wasn't sure how urgent Sasha's message was or why she needed everyone in the chat to respond. Even on a good day, not everyone was active at the same time. Getting all twelve of them to reply was only possible once every three months, at best. And, as it appeared, at least one of them—maybe two, depending on Ymir's situation—was unavailable.

"Hey, Reiner," he called out, getting his friend's attention as soon as he spoke, "can you talk in our group chat for me?"

"Sure." Reiner opened up the texts, laughing quietly to himself at the context, and typed out an answer. "Did you see what Ymir did?"

"Spare my brothers and don't say it out loud."

"Ha! Wouldn't dream of it."

"I wanna see," Antonio pouted, trying to peek over Reiner's shoulder, but he pocketed his phone too quickly. "Come on, Reiner!"

"Focus on your plant cells, dude. Where are the golgi bodies?"

Catalina prepared a second skillet for the steaks, shaking her head. " _You two are ridiculous_ ," she said in Spanish. " _Dancing around each other like this._ "

From the nearby dining room table, Bert's father chuckled and looked up from Sofia's lesson. " _You should have seen them when they were kids,_ " he teased. "They used to sneak into each other's rooms to see one another."

"Dad, stop," Bertholdt sighed.

"Dad, _don't_ stop," Daniel grinned. "Bring out the embarrassing photos."

" _He's in the embarrassing photos. What is that gonna do?_ " Reiner had glanced over at them, probably hearing the language change. Living in a close proximity to the Hoovers, he understood Spanish as well as English, even if he couldn't speak it well. Bertholdt, knowing how sneaky Reiner could be in eavesdropping, switched to Hebrew to avoid being discovered. " _Also, stop talking about him like this. He's going through a lot right now._ "

"I wish I could understand that," Catalina said, side-eyeing her husband, "but someone's a terrible teacher. All I know is schmeckle and oy vey."

"That doesn't really count, but it's better than nothing."

His stepmom scoffed and shoved his shoulder. "You're _useless_ in the kitchen. Go back to texting your friends!"

Reiner spoke up from the couch, sheepish and cautious. "Or, uh, you can wait," he grimaced. "I would wait, personally."

That was never a good sign. Bertholdt did the one thing he could do: open the missed texts.

 _ **sashay:** srsly guys i need EVERYONE._  
_its a cold black. emergency. 911._  
_ok maybe not but still its URGENT GUYS.  
in the meantime i will pet my dog and scratch her back_

 **_annie:_ ** _tell maggie i love her thanks_

 **_polo:_ ** _Krista's phone is MIA I think but I'm about to see her so I can update her on the news_

 **_eerien:_ ** _fam?_

 **_polo:_ ** _Idk maybe. She didn't rlly specify?  
_ _But I don't think she had time to either :/_

 **_reinerd:_ ** _her fam sucks man.  
_ _anyway bert's busy but i can tell him whats up_

 **_jean boi:_ ** _is he like actually busy or ymir busy_

 ** _the con man:_** **_*sunglasses emoji x3*_**

 **_reinerd:_ ** _actually busy  
_ **_image_ **

_**eerien:** almost got mad at u for sending nuds_  
_nudes  
but its just the hoover kitchen_

 **_reinerd:_ ** _theyre talking in spanish rn_

 _ **eerien:** about u?_  
_dude how do you not know spanish_  
_like btn me and bert and ymir u should be fluent_

_**polo:** None of those are real Spanish tho xo _

_**eerien:** SHUT UP U DONT SPEAK REAL SPANISH_  
_AND YU LEAVE OUT THE D'S IN WORDS  
ur lucky ymirs busy bc shell kick ur puerto rican ass_

_**polo:** LET HER _

_**the con man:** guys there are more important things than a latino race war rn_  
_like sashas surprise  
or the obvious sexual tension btn bert and reiner_

_**me:** fjkrnwsofvj  
Connie can you not _

"I told you not to look, man," Reiner pouted.

Bertholdt sighed and plopped down beside Sofia, who babbled Hebrew letters and the English counterparts in her high chair. "Too late. I'm involved."

 **_charmin':_ ** _OKAY. LEAVING._

 **_the con man:_ ** _i mean its not a lie  
_ _show me the lie and ill take it back_

 **_me:_ ** _The lie is that we have sexual tension._

 **_miriam:_ ** _mmmmmmmhm_  
_if krista was here she would have receipts  
also marco get ready im coming for you_

_**polo:** How does that work we're gay _

**_miriam:_ ** _EW YOU GROSS BOY.  
_ _JEAN TAME HIM._

 **_jean boi:_ ** _WHY AM I RESPONSIBLE FOR HIM IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY  
_ _HE'S RESPONSIBLE FOR ME_

With the steaks cooking on the stove, Catalina recruited Antonio and David to set the table. Because of his placement in the kitchen, Bertholdt was required to plate thir food. Reiner was put in charge of feeding the family's pets, so they couldn't talk, despite the shared glances that silently requested a new conversation. But Bert sent him a separate text, to get it out and over with. At least it was much easier, and less consequential, than saying anything out loud.

 **_to reinerd:_ ** _You never told anyone about us right?_

 **_from reinerd:_ ** _armin is the only one who knows  
_ _i don't think he told anyone else though._

 **_to reinerd:_ ** _You know for sure? He's not the best at keeping secrets…_

 **_from reinerd:_ ** _not for this type of thing. it's serious._

"Why are you texting Reiner when he's literally right behind you?" Daniel asked.

Bertholdt put his phone back down and continued to plate their dinner. "Mind your business. You're adopted."

When the Hoovers had Saturday and Sunday dinners together, they did their best to keep school and work away. Bert didn't look back at his phone until after dinner, and then an hour when Sofia hid it from him and laughed at his misfortune. When he last checked, Sasha still hadn't responded, but an interesting war between Mikasa and Eren's pup and Annie's dogs had broken out. And Sasha wouldn't respond until the next day, in person, when she barged into class with a cherry Coke and an ear-splitting grin, demanding that they meet during lunch to discuss more. They were allowed to stay in their classroom for lunch, as long as it wasn't near the computers and they cleaned up after themselves.

Once lunch came around, the twelve gathered in the offices in the back of the room, reserved for seniors. Marco and Ymir, after years of dedication and hard work, had earned them. Sasha made sure that everyone was accounted for, walking around the room with Doritos-dusted fingers and patting each head she passed. She got to the last one, Armin, and then patted her own head. "Does the door lock?" She asked. "Like, from the outside?"

"Why would you want to lock the door?" Marco wondered in suspicion.

"Because this is a secret meeting! No one is supposed to know about it."

"What if I already told everyone?" Annie asked.

"Then you're fired." Sasha shut the door and moved the one unused chair over to block the entrance. "Is that good enough?"

"I like it," Connie declared with a raised hand.

"Good enough for me!"

Ymir looked over at Bertholdt and Reiner, and her eyes crossed. Reiner snorted and shrugged, as if unsure of how to feel about this.

Sasha returned to her spot on Marco's desk—he had stopped protesting it after the first week—and crossed her legs. "Okay, guys, I have the perfect idea for us, and you're never gonna guess what it is."

"You're moving back to New York," Annie said.

"No, I wish."

"You're moving to New Jersey, which is even worse than New York."

"I thought they were the same thing," Eren smirked, mostly for Jean's sake.

Jean glared at both of them. "Deep dish pizza is disgusting."

"Take that back!"

Sasha banged a textbook on the desk to gather their attention; Marco grabbed it from her before she could do any real damage. "Guys, come on! I wanna throw a party! The last one to send high school off with a bang. The one that says goodbye to all our high school friends and gives us pleasant memories to look back on when we're drowning in coffee cups and tuition prices."

"Why would we do that?" Eren asked. "Are we never seeing each other again?"

"No, it's not for _us_. It's for our other friends. Like Jacob, and Thomas, and Laura, and Mina—"

Ymir shot up from her computer with a glower. "Hey, Mina and I had a deep connection in the band room that brought her out of the closet and into the arms of Annie Leonhardt for the best six months of their lives, so we are _not_ giving her away that easily."

"And Thomas had a possible affair with Marco," Jean added. "Why would we throw that away?" Ymir nodded sagely, as if suddenly remembering that fact, but Marco was far from accepting the accusation and sputtered in shock, his computer mouse skirting across the table.

"We didn't have an affair!" He exclaimed. "I thought we've been through this already!"

"You sound pretty defensive for someone who supposedly didn't bone Thomas Wagner," Reiner pointed out with a snicker.

"Like that's a bigger secret than you and Bert fucking," Ymir shot back.

Before anyone else could comment on anyone else's sexual affairs, Armin picked up where Sasha's conversation had drifted. Bertholdt was thankful he changed the subject, especially judging from what he knew and his reputation of spilling secrets. "So you want to throw an end-of-the-school-year party," Armin concluded.

Sasha perked up, having lost interest in the change of conversation, and nodded vigorously. "Not anything big, but nothing too small," she explained. "Something fun, but with something for everyone to enjoy. If you wanna go outside, or stay inside, you can—and if you wanna drink, I guess you can, too." Her shoulders scrunched up, and her eyes lowered, losing the spark of excitement that had previously been contained. "Which means I can't have it at my place, so…"

"We can find one!" Connie hopped up from his chair. "There's, like, ten other options."

Krista, who remained quiet but actively listening, suddenly sat up and stared right at him. "Two of us don't have homes right now."

Reiner was an obvious answer, his stance tightening ever so slightly at the reminder. (No one minded having him stay over, and his pride wasn't _that_ damaged asking for help, but he had always been close with his mom despite her family, and his separation from her was noticeable.) However, as far as anyone knew, he was the only one in that predicament.

"What do you mean 'two'?" Sasha asked.

Krista sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's just another family issue. It's nothing to be worried about."

"Don't lie to them," Ymir sneered. She reached over and shoved Krista's shoulder. "If you're gonna talk about it to the woodwinds, you can tell everyone here."

"Later." Her response was unusually firm for her usual routine; she had never so much as raised her voice at one of them without some type of jest behind her intentions. Even Ymir, who specialized in such a thing, had never gotten such a crude reaction. At Krista's words, however, her nose scrunched up and she went back to working on her computer.

"So three places we can't use," Sasha nodded. From the look on her face, she was unsure of what to make of the scene before her, but she didn't address it. "Sooo anyone else?"

"My grandpa doesn't trust us," Armin said with an apologetic smile. "And I don't feel comfortable asking him either."

"Same," Eren admitted. Mikasa nodded in agreement. "I mean, we could use our place, when our dad is on the night shift, but I don't think our parents would appreciate a trashed house."

Because of the temporary and drawn-out separation from Carla, and Grisha's longer hours at the hospital to make up for the loss of income, the state of the Jaeger household was never discussed with the two teenagers involved. Jean must have noticed their reactions or sensed their distress, for he spoke up almost as soon as Eren had finished. "I can ask my parents," he offered. Eren's shoulders dropped, and Mikasa let out a quiet breath.

"Bert can ask too," Annie added. "He has two houses."

Bertholdt turned to her, offended that she would even bring him up. "One house has seven people living in it," he pointed out. "The other has my mother and her husband, who are still working on a relationship with me. I'm not asking anyone."

"Why don't you do it?" Reiner asked Annie, his head tilting in curiosity. Whether it was out of mirth or genuine inquiry was anyone's guess. "I mean, you have enough room."

Annie's reply was swift and sharp. "The last time I had a party, Nikki and Chloe got sick from some food left out and nearly died. I trust no one."

Sasha groaned and sprawled out on Marco's desk. "So seven places?"

"Eight," Marco admitted with a frown. "My house is small, and my family's coming for my birthday this year, so…"

"You've all betrayed me."

Ymir glanced over at Sasha and let out a long, exasperated sigh. "If you're that passionate about it, I can ask Gloria." She paused, holding back her next thought to look at Connie. "And Pinhead can do the same. He has everything at that house."

Connie whipped his head, face half-stuffed with potato chips, as if it was the first time he had heard the conversation. "Wha?"

"You can ask your parents about hosting the party."

"Oh, yeah." He gulped down the rest of his snack before continuing. "I mean, I got two baby siblings, and a thousand animals, but it doesn't hurt to ask."

Sasha shot up and leaned over to smack a kiss on his forehead. "You're the best!"

If she noticed Connie's blush or rapid blinking, she didn't say anything about it. Reiner looked over at Bertholdt in disbelief and rolled his eyes, partially ironic but equally genuine. There were a number of couples in their friend group who should have been dating at that point, or at least talking about it. Instead, they danced around the subject and avoided any talk of romance. Bertholdt knew that included himself and Reiner, no matter how much the blond avoided the topic.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, the group chat resumed its talk on the party.

 **_jean boi:_ ** _so mom said no_

 **_sashay:_ ** _:'((((((  
_ _did you even truy_

 **_jean boi:_ ** _YES I TRIED  
_ _what do you want me to do, fight her????_

 **_annie:_ ** _take one for the team_

**_the con man: *flexing emoji*_ **

**_jean boi:_ ** _i saw lucas try it when he was in high school and he failed.  
_ _justine kirschtein is short, but she doesn't lose._

 **_sashay:_ ** _sigh sigh its okay jean dont worry about it  
_ _we still have connie and ymir_

 **_miriam:_ ** _oh yea i cant do it_

 **_sashay:_ ** _w HAT  
_ _YMIR NO_

 **_miriam:_ ** _ymir yes  
_ _my grandparents are moving in with us bc abuela's losing her mind_

 **_kris:_ ** _That's horrible!  
_ _Ignore Ymir it's more serious than that trust me._

 **_eerien:_ ** _hey kris is back_

 **_kris:_ ** _Hello! My phone was in my band uniform lol. Nothing bad!_

 **_eerien:_ ** _oh good so you saw the last txts_

 **_kris:_ ** _Yeah they were um  
_ _Interesting_

**_the con man: *thumbs up emoji, sunglasses emoji*_ **

**_sashay:_ ** _missed you kris_ **_*kissing emoji*  
_ ** _so no on your house ymir?_

 **_miriam:_ ** _yea srry sash  
_ _theyre coming in april n theres no way i can get the house to myself_

 **_reinerd:_ ** _are they moving your parents up?_

 _ **miriam:** idk maybe_  
_poppi cant drive well and abuelas eyes are fucked lmao so  
either drive them up or fly but theyll prolly go down and help_

_**reinerd:** cool! maybe we can try to have the party then? _

**_sashay:_ ** _NO  
_ _THEN I'S JUST A HOUSE PARTY AND NIT A GRADUATION APRTY_

 **_eerien:_ ** _good job on the spelling  
_ _so the con man is our only hope_

 **_polo:_ ** _:)  
_ **_gif_ **

**_eerien:_ ** _rlly  
_ _u culd be in another time zone and still find the time for a star wars reference_

 **_polo:_ ** _It's the force, Luke!_

For the next few months, the party dissipated from their attention. With AP classes and graduation nearing, projects to finalize and preparations for college, Sasha's idea slipped through the cracks. No one was to blame, and no one complained—plus, it was suspected that Connie forgot to ask his parents. Senior year, for everyone, wasn't as easy as they thought.

Until, of course, the last Friday in March, after spring break.

 _ **the con man:** GUYS GUYS GUYS_  
_I HAVE AMAZING NEWS_  
****_*siren emoji, silhouette emoji, siren emoji, fire emoji x3*_  
_GUYS THIS IS IMPORTANT I NEED EVERYONE HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!_  
_HELLOOOOOOOOO_

_**sashay:** good luck getting everyone together lmaoooo  
cough cough JERKS _

**_the con man:_ ** _at least you're here for me_

**_sashay: *purple heart emoji*_ **

**_charmin':_ ** _Wow, correct grammar and everything?  
_ _I'm impressed Connie_

 **_the con man: *wink emoji*  
_ ** _it's a special occasion my dude_

 **_annie:_ ** _is spike gonna be a dad_

 **_the con man:_ ** _NO I WISH_

 **_annie:_ ** _then i don't care  
_ _it's the sabbath "my dude"_

 **_jean boi:_ ** _since when are you jewish_

 _ **annie:** read it and weep_  
**_image  
_ **_dinner with liv and sol_

_**reinerd:** whoa who's your friend?  
the bowl-legged one ***sunglasses emoji***_

**_the con man:_ ** _that's you reiner_

 **_polo:_ ** _That  
_ _Thats the point of the joke Connie_

 **_jean boi:_ ** _still wanna know how to delete someone else's texts  
_ _anyways shabbat shalom_

 **_me:_ ** _Thanks Jean :)  
_ _We're having chicken in honor of Connie's surprise_

 **_the con man:_ ** _oh yeah my surprise  
_ _but we're missing a few peeps_

 **_mika:_ ** _I'm here, just not responding  
_ _Playing LTTP for Armin._

 _ **the con man:** yaaaaay_  
**_*grinning emoji x4*  
_ **_did you get to the flute boy yet_

 _ **mika:** I just started; heading for Sahasrahla_  
_**image  
** Lola likes it too_

 **_sashay:_ ** _I SEE A GOOD GIRL!!!!!_

 **_kris:_ ** _Hi Lola!!!_ **_*kissyface emoji*_ **

**_the con man:_ ** _OH GOOD YOU'RE HERE GREAT LET'S BEGIN_  
_SO I ASKED MY PARENTS ABOUT THE PARTY_  
_AND THEY SAID_  
_IF WE CAN PROMISE NOT TO DESTROY THE HOUSE_  
_THEN WE ARE TOTALLY SET TO THROW A PARTY THERE!!!!_

 **_sashay:_ ** _THANK THE GODS_

 **_miriam:_ ** _i literally forgot we were planning a party_

 **_annie:_ ** _don't worry you're not the only one_

 **_eerien:_ ** _as long as trixie stays in her fucking room i'm okay with this_

 _ **the con man:** oh yeah right that's another thing_  
_only spike and frieda are allowed to be out_  
_but cheryl, prince harry, patty, benjamin iii, and trixie are gonna stay where they are  
also mom and dad say you guys can sleepover if you want BUT ONLY YOU GUYS_

_**reinerd:** cool man that sounds like fun! _

**_sashay:_ ** _ahem_

 **_me:_ ** _Thanks for planning this party, Sasha_

**_polo: *thumbs up emoji*_ **

**_sashay:_** **_*purple heart emoji*  
_**_WERE HAVING A PARTY!!!!_

 

* * *

 

Graduation passed, and the Vets returned from college to congratulate them. Mike gave them a few pointers on how to throw the right party—apparently, he had done something similar for their last year of high school, and his advice on how to host, especially for "people you will only see in Kroger," was helpful. There would be more than twelve people attending the party, so it had to be done right.

It was about a week after graduation, when extended family was long gone and summer settled in. It was the same night that Reiner walked from Armin's to Bertholdt's in the pouring rain just to kiss him, whispering about how he truly felt for his childhood friend and how ever since they started their fling two years ago, he had never stopped. Bertholdt practically dragged him down to the basement, the only private room in the house, to show him just how much _he_ meant to him.

They only undressed to their boxers, still familiar with each other's bodies from their fling, and made out on the futon under the covers. Bertholdt kept on wondering, at every breath for air and every skip of lips down his neck, when he would wake up, but then their mouths would tangle together, and his heart would hammer against his chest, and the thought flew away. This was, without a doubt, real.

"You know, we could have been doing this a lot sooner," Reiner mumbled into his shoulder, softly nuzzling tan skin. Bertholdt occupied himself by running a hand lazily through blond hair. "If I hadn't been so scared, this could have been our anniversary."

"Hey," Bert whispered. His fingers reached down to gently cup Reiner's face, tracing a soft finger along his jaw. "Don't blame yourself for that. A lot was going on."

"I led you on—"

"I wasn't in the best state either." He scoffed slightly at the memory—hurried hands, in the same basement, trying to bring him to completion; the desire for lust and bare skin and lips wrapped around tongues and thick members; the night that Bertholdt spewed his heart out and Reiner shied away, convinced that he was wrong for being who he was. He had forgotten how to breathe, how to be himself without anyone defining him, and Bertholdt provided that breath of air to help him out, at first a little at a time but then all at once, and it overwhelmed him. And once Reiner pulled back, Bertholdt raised his shell again and shut the topic away, scared away from forward behavior, refusing to bring it up again. "I could have done a good job at bringing up that topic, but it failed."

Reiner, as he listened, pressed butterfly kisses along Bert's hand. When he got to his wrist, marked as it was, he silently asked for permission and trailed down his forearm when he received it. His pecks strayed longer when they traveled over a scar, prominent or faded, as if firm kisses would heal them.

"Reiner—"

"I promise, I won't disappoint you this time. All that shit about how being gay is bad, and how I'm wrong to like you—that's not who I am." Reiner sat up so he could lean over him, lips hovering inches apart. "I'm happy I was born this way, because it brought me to you. And I want you more than anything."

He sealed the confession with a kiss, passionate and true and _real_ , all battling for prominence. Bertholdt wrapped his arms around Reiner's shoulders to pull him closer, and his legs wrapped around his waist. He didn't expect them to go far, even if they wanted to. The air was soft and gentle, meant for warm embraces and roaming hands and a lull in sexual want. A genuinely pleasant atmosphere, no strings attached, a new start.

When they pulled away, Reiner laughed quietly, unable to control his smile, and pressed their foreheads together. Bertholdt hummed in contentment, shutting his eyes and enjoying the moment—at least for a second. He probably shouldn't say anything, but the opportunity presented itself.

"I think that's the gayest thing you've ever said to me."

"…you—"

Bertholdt burst into laughter, and Reiner followed close behind, rolling off him and snuggling into his shoulder. Their legs entwined and their hands met to tangle together and squeeze. Bertholdt couldn't remember a time when he had been happier—which, sure, was sappy, but it was more than what was on the surface. Since reconnecting four years ago, after their families made separate moves from Los Angeles to Nashville, Reiner had carried a weight on his shoulders that required demands to be his own person and, at the same time, the person everyone wanted. He was a reliable son and nephew and big brother/cousin figure, a football player and an academic genius, gay for himself but straight for his family. Krista even posed as his girlfriend for a night, just to see how surreal it was. (The rumor was she portrayed herself as a female—blonde, Christian—version of Bertholdt to prove a point, but what and how would Annie know?)

Now, Reiner had a chance to be himself, with the person he wanted to hold hands with and cuddle close to and kiss breathless. And Bertholdt had zero complaints.

While Reiner made a mad dash to the basement's bathroom, something about an "unexpected call of nature," Annie texted them in their own group chat—separate from "Y2K12", but not unusual to Bertholdt. She often sent sagely or confusing text messages at night, the easiest time for her to smoke without being scolded.

 **_annie:_ ** _hope you're not boning right now  
_ _sasha made invitations. be prepared._

"Does Annie know you're here?" Bertholdt asked when Reiner returned from his trip. Even though they had been separated for a few minutes, barely enough to make a difference, Reiner huddled back under the blankets against him and sighed in contentment.

"Unless Armin told her, no," he said, resting his head on Bertholdt's chest. "Why, what'd she say?" Bert handed his phone over; Reiner read the latest message, and a beam spread to his face. "Aww."

"What?"

"You put a blue heart next to my name."

"Reiner, really?" Bertholdt took his phone back as a new text popped up, this time from Armin. Reiner scooted beside him so they could read it together.

 **_from charmin':_ ** _Before anyone else tells you anything, I am so sorry.  
_ _Mikasa saw Reiner leave, and she asked me why, and then Eren started asking, and together, they're unstoppable._

 **_to charmin':_ ** _What did you say to them?_

 **_from charmin':_ ** _You don't want to know._

"Oh no." Bertholdt dropped his phone on his chest and groaned. If Mikasa and Eren knew, then everyone in "Y2K12" knew. And while he wasn't ashamed of being with Reiner, he didn't think he could handle the, to put it lightly, intense responses he was going to get.

"Has anyone said anything yet?" Reiner asked.

"I don't wanna look."

"Better to get it out of the way, though."

Bertholdt spared a look despite his reluctance. At least he got a kiss from Reiner out of it.

 **_from eerien:_ ** _FUCK YEAH BOYS GET SOME!!!!  
_ **_*smirk emoji x6*_ **

_**from the con man:** WHAT THE HELL GUYS I THOUGHT I WAS YOUR WINGMAN_  
_YOU NEED TO TELL ME THESE THINGS IN ADVANCE_  
_-PRACTICE SAFE SEX_  
_-NO DRINKING_  
_-DON'T WAKE UP THE NEIGHBORS_  
_GOOD LUCK ***thumbs up emoji***_

 **_from miriam:_ ** _i hope you eat your hearts out as much as you eat his ass  
_ **_*red heart emoji*_ **

**_from polo:_ ** _Kinda confused, because I thought you guys were already dating, but here's an official congrats:  
_ _Congrats!!!_ **_*balloon emoji, present emoji, streamers emoji*_ **

_**from annie:** i have condoms if you wanna cross the backyard and grab them_  
_or i can send chloe, who's a better girl than rosa ever will be_  
_anyways have fun fucking_

 _ **from sashay:** FINALLY!!!!!!_  
_AND JSUT IN TIME TO SEE MY NIFTY INVITATION FOR THE PARTY_  
_**image  
** SAVE THE DATE AND STAY SAFE!!!!!_

"Do you ever hate being friends with them?"

"Mm. It's bearable for me."

"That doesn't help."

"Sorry. The invitation looks nice, though."

"…yeah. It does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So you can't post emojis in the text boxes but a few of Bert's contacts have them next to their names. Jean (jean boi) has the skull head, Marco (polo) has the actual polo shirt, Ymir (miriam) has the purple smiling devil, Sasha (sashay) has the dancing lady, and REINER(D) HAS THE BLUE HEART.  
> *Also in case anyone's curious: Lola is Eren and Mikasa's goldendoodle, and Annie has two corgis named Chloe and Nikki (short for Pumpernickel, because she named him as a child and he looks like a loaf of bread lmaooo)  
> *Connie has, in total, seven pets: Spike the Great Dane, Frieda the Burmese, Cheryl and Prince Harry the cockatoos, Patty the chameleon, Benjamin III the English lop (rabbit), and Trixie the tarantula :)))))


	3. The Night Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clinking glasses, making toasts, sealing fates. The party has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a super short chapter, compared to the others, mostly because there's not a lot to add to it. I mainly want this to serve as a comparison between the beginning of the party and the end. Still nice, though, I would say. There are good things here. Like dogs.

**_sashay:_** _hey losers_ _can you do me a favor and come early today to help set up for the party_

**_annie:_  ** _can't i'm sick cough cough_

**_jean boi:_** _my mom needs me for stuff so no i cannot_

**_sashay:_ ** _what type of stuff jean_

_**jean boi:** cleaning, washing lily, groceries, need i go on?_  
**_image  
_ **_in case anyone wants to fight my claims._

_**sashay:** damn nvm good luck _

**_the con man:_** _jeanny ur excused  
_ _everyone else ur not_

**_annie:_ ** _i have a ton of dogs to pet_

**_charmin':_** _I can be over at 6_

**_sashay:_ **_thatll do sweetie  
_ _anyone else wanna volunteer before we force you?_

**_kris:_ ** _Marco and I will be over in a few minutes!_

_**the con man:** NO WAIT_  
_if you come now then sunny and martin will never leave the house  
ill let you know when its safe_

_**kris: *thumbs up emoji*** _

**_reinerd:_ ** _still cant believe you got us the house_

**_the con man:_  ** _SAME it only took a promise to see nana and nani next week_

**_me:_ ** _What time do we need to be there?_

**_sashay:_ ** _not fucking 7 thats for damn sure_

**_annie:_ ** _i'll be there at 7 got it_

**_the con man:_ **_6:30 at the latest  
_ _i wanna do a toast for my best friends!!!!_

**_me:_ ** _Reiner, Annie and I will be there as soon as the coast is clear_

**_annie:_ ** _fuck you bert_

**_the con man: *heart eyes emoji, red heart emoji*  
_ ** _GUYS THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING_

 

* * *

 

Annie was pissed.

Granted, she had a reason to be; Bertholdt had invited her to the Springers earlier than she wanted. And it was with people she allegedly couldn't stand, even if two of them had grown up on the same street as her for a majority of their childhood. For Annie, going early meant she cared, which showed that she had feelings and experienced emotions, which made her vulnerable and open to people, and that was scary. It didn't matter if the people she was surrounded by were people she could trust her life with. It was still overwhelming.

But they had been sitting outside of her house, in Bert's car, for nearing fifteen minutes, and she hadn't come out or indicated that she was on her way out the door. Meanwhile, Connie was panicking via text about the list of things he still had to do, and Reiner refused to stop fidgeting in the passenger seat. It was a little stressful.

"Why is she taking so long? It's been an hour, jeez—"  _taptaptaptap—_

Just a little.

 _Taptaptap—_ "This is your fault."

Bertholdt looked up from playing a game on his phone and scoffed. "Oh, do tell."

Reiner, slouched in the seat, pouted at him and reached over to poke his cheek. "You invited her to come with us and didn't ask her about it. And so she's taking her sweet ass time, getting ready, because she hates you."

"And she doesn't hate you?"

"Everyone loves me. Why is that a question?"

"Okay, Reiner."

The blond squeezed his side and was quick enough to withdraw his hand before Bertholdt slapped it for tickling him. He smirked at his victory. "You mad because she hates you and you have a crush on her?"

Bertholdt whipped towards him in offense, shock on his features. "Reiner, why would I have a crush on Annie if I'm dating  _you_?"

Reiner, sitting up, leaned over and kissed him. The act, the sensation, was still new to him in all the right ways. Bert hoped he never got used to it. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

That was worth a smile and a kiss back. Reiner took their hands and entwined them together. "If you wanted me to kiss you, all you had to do was ask."

"Alright." He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed into Bertholdt's lap as much as he could, his arms wrapping around his neck and his legs draping into the passenger seat. He kicked off his shoes so he didn't get any stray dirt on the car's upholstery. "Then kiss me."

He was insufferable sometimes, but it was equally endearing. His rather polite requests for kisses made up for the number of times, in the past week, that he had stolen a peck or wrapped arms around his waist and  _squeezed_ or patted his ass in passing. Either way, Bertholdt couldn't resist or hold back any longer and brought their lips together. The amount of affection and pure joy that fell out of his movements was intoxicating. Reiner's hum turned into a quiet victorious chuckle, hands toying with the hair at the nape of Bert's neck as their lips molded to the familiar form. That's how most of their relationship was turning out: familiarity, some revived and some instinctive. They could order each other coffee at Starbucks and surprise each other with a snack from Wendy's or Sonic. The only difference was they could thank each other with kisses.

There were some downsides, however, that Bertholdt never put much thought into—especially when Reiner did  _that_  with his tongue and was trailing down his throat to nip and suck at any skin in his reach to have him panting and writhing beneath him. It was difficult to even think about thinking, and who could blame him? They were in a tiny space, even with how far they pushed their seats back for leg room, and clothes were certainly in the way, Bertholdt reaching up his back and fisting the light fabric. They hadn't made that extra step yet—as a result of being friends with benefits for nearly two years, making nudity and sex a hurdle they could get to when they felt like it—but just to hold each other with no barriers or obstructions was an experience all on its own. Bertholdt reveled in the fact that he could be anywhere with Reiner, be doing anything with him, and he would like it, if only because Reiner was by his side.

"You should really lock your doors if you're gonna make out with each other."

And with the warmth suddenly disappearing from his lap with a yelp, the illusion was gone.

Annie dragged Reiner out of the front seat by his feet and tossed him into her yard. While he regained his bearings, she got in, sat down, and shut the door. "Hi, Bert." She locked the doors and checked herself in the vanity mirror, even though she didn't wear makeup and it just gave her something to do rather than a real purpose.

Reiner knocked on the backseat's window to get their attention. Bertholdt sighed, deciding to amuse Annie for a little longer to make up for upsetting her. "Hi, Annie. Everything good?"

She tossed her bag of stuff in the back and put her feet on the dashboard. "I am fantastic."

Another knock, this time more insistent. Bertholdt reached over to unlock the doors, but Annie swatted him away. "Good to hear. Reiner needs to get in."

"Reiner can walk. Or my dad will sic my dogs on him. We'll see."

"Annie."

"Also, neither of you said anything about dating each other, even though I'm closer to you two than anyone in our friend group, so why the hell should I give him mercy?"

Bertholdt wasn't exactly surprised by the jealousy, but he certainly wasn't expecting it to come out from her then and there. From her tense shoulders to the lack of teasing mirth that normally peeked out from her stoic expression, she was actually upset about not finding out about it. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you."

"Yeah, you better be. You told Armin fucking Arlert first."

An interesting choice, seeing as he once joined the two on their adventures into sexuality, when they informed him of their fling before his perceptive behavior caught on, in order to secure that it stayed a secret. But that wasn't something Annie needed to know. "Well, that wasn't intentional, because Reiner was leaving his house and needed to say  _something_ to him. And it happened so fast, we weren't thinking about who to tell or anything like that." Annie glanced over at him, and he gave a soft smile. "If things hadn't been the way they were, we would have gone to you first. I promise."

"Tch. Whatever." She leaned forward to unlock the doors, and almost instantly, Reiner clamored into the backseat.

"You're both jerks," he declared. To prove his point, he kicked their seats with a huff. "How dare you leave me out in the heat."

"I wanted you to melt," Annie said.

"We were talking," Bertholdt insisted. He knocked Annie's feet off of the dash and drove away from the curb. "We can talk about it later."

"I don't want to. I'm over it now."

"Over what?" Reiner asked.

"The fact that I had to find out through Marco, who found out through Ymir and Sasha, who found out through Mikasa, who found out through Armin that you two were finally declaring your love for each other."

Bertholdt stole a glimpse in the rearview mirror at his boyfriend, who took in the explanation at first in speculation and curiosity, and then quick understanding and guilt. "Aww, Annie, that's my fault—"

Annie turned in her seat to face him and interrupted his speech. "Honestly, I don't care anymore. I get that you were sort of obligated to tell Armin everything, and I'm over it."

Reiner's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do I know you're not lying to push it off?"

"Because if I was still mad, I wouldn't have unlocked the door. So drop it before I force Bertholdt to pull over and leave you on the side of the road."

"You wouldn't do tha _ah_!" Annie dug her fingers into Bertholdt's side before he could finish his protest. "Stop, I'm driving!"

The bickering ceased, but the bonding over how ticklish Bert could be—and the fact that both Reiner and Annie loved to take advantage of it—lasted the whole car ride. Thankfully, Connie's house was only a few blocks away from Annie's; the downside was that their timing was off. The Springer family had left at four, and Connie told the three of them to be there as soon as they were able. Bertholdt and Reiner left his mom's house at 4:30. It was nearly 5 by the time the trio pulled up to the house.

"I'll take the blame for being late," Annie decided, and continued before either of them could finish their protests. "Yes, I am, it's the least I can do. Plus, it's not that inaccurate. And you don't have a say in this, so save your breath."

"Fine," Bertholdt said, not wanting any more fighting. Reiner just stuck his tongue out at her and tossed her duffel bag into her lap.

Sasha was waiting for them at the curb, texting furiously on her phone and wearing typical pajama attire. While the three of them got out of the car, she gasped and bounded over to them. "You're  _sooo_  la—"

"I'm a dog mom," Annie cut her off. "I had things to do."

Sasha's eyes narrowed for a second before she shrugged and smiled. "Okay. Connie's cool about it, anyway. We still got two hours"

"Anyone else here?" Reiner asked.

"Just Marco and Krista, but Jean's on the way. Kris and I are trying to get Ymir to come early."

"Good luck."

"Thank you! Oh, nice hair." She reached up as best she could to pat Bert's head. "Were you guys making out?"

"They were," Annie answered before anyone could deny it. Sasha bit her lip, but it did nothing to hide her gleeful smile or squeal.

Bertholdt let out a long sigh, hoping his face didn't look as hot as it felt. "What do you need us to do, Sash?"

"Well, first, put your things in the basement, because that's where we'll be staying tonight, and then Connie will tell you what to do. Oh!" She was halfway across the front yard before she turned quickly and pointed at them. "And set your party clothes out. Connie's plan is to have a toast for the twelve of us before the party starts, but there's a lot to get ready, and we'll have to throw some nice clothes on pretty quickly if we want this party to start off classy!"

Sasha skipped back into the house and left the three to follow behind her. Annie waited until she had gone into the house, when it was the three of them, to look up at the boys beside her. "Can I wingwoman her?"

Bertholdt didn't mention Annie's crush on Mikasa, persistent since January of tenth grade, even though he wanted and could have pointed out the irony. And in a rare moment of reading the mood and knowing what was right to say, Reiner only smiled and nodded. Maybe their unspoken link was a real thing.

The Springers' Great Dane, Spike, was ready to greet the trio at the door, tail wagging and smiling wide. Seeing a dog was the only time anyone saw Annie's wall shut down. No one mentioned how quickly her reactions could change when a four-legged furiend was within reach, or else they would face backlash. Bertholdt and Reiner learned, from experience, to never say anything about it.

"I bet someone's been a good boy today, haven't you?" Annie cooed to Spike, freely smiling and rubbing a spot behind his ear. Reiner scratched his back thoroughly with his greeting; Bert simply gave a pat on his head. He had always been more of a cat person, but apparently, Annie refused to let that single pat be it. "Buttholdt, you better be dropping our things off so you can greet our host properly."

"I didn't know Spike paid the Springers' bills," he scoffed quietly. Annie still heard it and threw her bag at him.

"Reiner, your boyfriend's an asshole, break up with him."

"Later." Reiner was on the floor with Spike, who had decided it was time to beg for belly rubs. Annie couldn't keep her attention on Bertholdt for any longer and abandoned the grudge to treat the dog right.

Bertholdt rolled his eyes and brought all three bags to the basement, setting them down on the round table down there and unpacking what he hoped was their outfits for the party. On one of the neat cubicle-like bookshelves along the back wall, Frieda sat inside one of the openings, curled up like a loaf of bread. Recognizing her company, she jumped from her perch and rubbed against his legs thoroughly. Bertholdt greeted her with soft enthusiasm, scratching her chin and laughing at her small meow in contentment.

The Burmese followed him upstairs, where Connie was greeting Reiner and Annie with open arms. Bertholdt could already tell what Annie was thinking: his slightly baggy clothes, especially a shirt that looked a little too much like Sasha's, were enough evidence to activate some wingwoman action.

"Right now, I just need to get the house cleaned and all the animals fed," he said once he got the greetings out of the way, which for Bert had included a running start and a pounce that nearly toppled him off his feet. "Especially because of Eren's spider thing, so we need to get that out of the way, like, now."

"I can take care of them," Annie offered. "They like me, and the birds will think I'm one of their own."

Connie grinned and clapped. "Yes, good! You can take Patty out when you feed Benjamin III and let her crawl on your shoulder and stuff."

"Set her out into the wild, got it."

"No, Annie—" The blonde was gone down the hall, greeting Frieda as she went, before he finished. Connie shook his head and sighed. "Oh well. She's Tommy's pet anyway."

Reiner snorted, "Aren't you a model older brother."

"Hey, his genetics decided to be taller than me! That's not my fault." Connie paused to think, and patted Spike's back for good measure, before he continued. "Can you guys help me clean the rest of the house? Sunny and Martin have their stuff everywhere, and it was one of the deals I made with my parents, even though I have to do it anyway, and I can't do it all by myself—"

Bertholdt saw that he was rambling, hurried and nervous, but he was calmed with a hand on his shoulder from Reiner. "We'll help you, man, just remember to breathe, okay? We're here to help."

Connie took in a deep breath and let it out slow. His hands idly toyed with Spike's ears; the dog barely had to sit down for his human to reach the top of his head. "Good, man, because I have so much on my mind."

"It's the first real party you've hosted on your own," Bertholdt pointed out. "It's expected."

"No, not like that, turtle. I mean like… I'm thinking about…" Connie looked over his shoulder, at Sasha joking with Krista and Marco in the backyard, cleaning the deck as they did, "I'm thinking about asking her out. On a date."

"Who's 'her'?" Reiner asked. Bertholdt suppressed a groan.

"I thought you knew everything," the taller teased. "Connie's into Sasha."

Connie, offended, clutched his chest. "I thought you were my friend, Rye bread," he frowned in mock despair. "Where have you been?!"

Reiner smiled at the question and rested his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Looking at Bertl."

Bertholdt returned the smile and pecked his forehead. "That's probably more accurate than we think."

The blond nuzzled into his shoulder before looking back at Connie. "Seriously, though, if you want my advice? You should definitely ask her tonight."

Connie's jaw dropped and his face lit up, eyes darting between the couple, before he shook his head. "Hey, we gotta get to work. We can gossip after we clean all the sippy cups from the sink."

"Just make Jean do it," Reiner said with a shrug. "Then he can look at Marco out the kitchen window."

"But Jean doesn't like Marco like that, remember?" Bertholdt teased. "He's not obvious, like we are." Reiner snorted and nudged him for "being so mean, Bertl."

"Yeah, but now he can't say that, because you guys are actually dating!" Connie declared. Spike leaned his head back and tried to lick his face, but he just got his—Sasha's?—shirt. When he didn't reach his destination, the Great Dane hopped up on his hind legs and tried to reach Connie's face, much to his amusement and the worry of Reiner and Bertholdt as he tumbled backward.

Between the three of them, they didn't get much cleaning done.

 

* * *

 

 

Surprising as it was, Connie actually did a good job managing everyone's given tasks. When someone from their main friend group came in the house, whether it was a surprise or at the time they said, he gave them a duty and hurried off to help someone else. Jean begrudgingly accepted kitchen duty, as did Ymir, but their eyes wandered outside to the backyard more than they focused on cleaning. Mikasa and Armin rearranged the living room to make room for dancing, but still allowed access for sitting. Annie and Eren decorated, with help from Reiner and Bertholdt when a taller reach was required.

The only major problem they couldn't fix—aside from the multiple help attempts from Spike and Frieda—was the stereo, which had magically disappeared and was never seen again. Krista saved the day by making a playlist via Spotify, using Connie's laptop to make it and adding suggested songs to the mix. Luckily, the television's speakers were able to make up for the lack of volume. It saved Connie from ending the party, but he nearly spiraled again when he noticed the time, and demanded that everyone get dressed for his toast.

"If the first people arrive, and I'm not ready, someone will pay," he declared as he dashed into his room to redress.

No one would have listened, thanks to Annie, if Reiner hadn't stepped in and reminded them what they were doing in the first place. Bertholdt learned that a good "What are we doing here?" shame talk, including light accusations of abandoning good friends, made a group of recently-graduated-high-school students move quickly.

Bertholdt also learned that any attempts to stop a distraction from Reiner should be planned weeks, if not months, in advance. He could barely get his shirt on without Reiner kissing his bare shoulders and hugging him around the waist.

"Are you two gonna do this all night?" Jean asked.

"I don't know, are you gonna follow us around and complain all night?" Reiner shot back.

"I think it's sweet," Krista smiled. "You two have wanted to date for a while, so why try to hide it now?"

"Exactly! And hey, maybe we can inspire one of you bozos to do the same thing."

There was some laughter to accompany the joke, but Bertholdt saw right through it. No one was willing to admit their feelings to the person they were interested in, no matter what. Maybe that was fine, for now, but if their chance was lost before they acted on it, what were they left with?

The twelve friends gathered in the living room, food set out neatly on tables and music playing faintly in the background for now. Spike had a bowtie on his collar and a party hat on his head, and Frieda had already prepared herself for the crowd and was hiding in the basement for the time being. The drink area had enough cups to last and enough alcohol to keep them entertained. No one asked where or how Connie was able to nab so much, but they were at least fine with it as he poured sparkling cider to toast with.

"I don't wanna get  _too_ crazy tonight," he said as he handed out the solo cups. "But I do want some part of the night to be in obscurity."

"You do know this has zero alcohol in it, right?" Annie asked, taking a small whiff of her cup.

"Yeah, but like, it has the same feeling."

"Not really."

"It's Connie's house, and he can do what he wants," Sasha pointed out.

"Yeah!" Connie nodded vigorously, pointing at the blonde. "It's my house!"

"That makes no logical sense," Mikasa said.

Annie was about to make her own retort, but Mikasa's response had changed her mind. "Where did it say that I needed your help? Because for your information, I do not."

Armin and Bertholdt shared a look as Eren and Reiner separated them before a fight broke out. That was the last thing they needed, especially with the decor and mood set just right.

Connie, with no further disruptions, stood up on the table and raised his cup. The other eleven in the room followed, and Spike sat up to sniff at them and see what they were doing. "A toast," he declared, "to good friends, fun times, and the beginning of a new era. Some of us may be going to different schools, and we may go off to do different things, and that's okay, because we'll always have each other, through thick and thin and all the nasty shit you can think of. I like to think that part of the reason we made it through high school is because we had one another to fall back on. So I know that, even if the next four years will require a lot of strings just to see each other, we're gonna be okay. We got this. To friendship!"

"To friendship!" The toast was sealed, sips were taken. The party could start.

"That was actually super nice," Eren said, helping Connie off the table.

"Thank you."

"Honestly, I thought you were gonna quote the Rydell speech from 'Grease'," Ymir chuckled. "So now I'm out eight bucks, but I'm proud of you, Springer."

"Oh, that reminds me—" Connie jumped back on the table. "We have a banner year coming up. These boys are primed—"

"Never mind, get him off the table."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the movie "Grease" there's this scene where the football coach gives this long speech and it's sorta an inside joke with my sister that, whenever something big happens, you quote it. So I added it in this chapter, because Connie would probably do the same thing. And there's not a good version on YT, but I promise it's worth watching the entirety of "Grease" just for the one scene. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, for the next chapters, we're really gonna get into the grit of this story. Aka the conflicts. Which conflict will we see first? I don't know yet. Still trying to figure that one out. But hey, come back next time and find out, yeah?


	4. Annie Leonhardt and the Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Thing™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie thought she could keep a straight face. Meanwhile, there's little that's straight about her, and she keeps on tripping over her own feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One month later than I thought because life am I right guys?
> 
> CAUTION WARNING for underage drinking and some mentions of sex, towards the end of the chapter

By 7:30, the crowd of the party filled a good portion of the living room and bled into the kitchen with little wiggle room. Sasha and Connie had controlled the amount at one point by keeping out those who didn't have an invitation to show they were invited, but once the toast was given and they drifted away from bouncing to consume more alcohol, the crowd practically doubled. (Okay, maybe it didn't double, but Annie didn't think those details were important. Mild claustrophobia helped make the crowd much different for her eyes.) Once that happened, Annie grabbed her cigarettes and her cocktail, and then headed out to the backyard. Some people were mingling out there—thankfully, all but one she recognized—but Spike had been lounging on one of the lawn chairs on the deck. When he spotted Annie, his pointed ears twisted towards her and he bounded over to her.

"Hey, dog whisperer," Mina waved to her with a broad smile. Annie noticed her braces had finally been removed, and her teeth were shiny white. "You coming to greet His Majesty?"

"It was crowded," Annie said, already kneeling to pet the Great Dane, who was more than happy to lather her face in kisses. "And I missed him."

Mina must have remembered her issue with enclosed spaces—even the few months they had incorporated sex casually into their relationship didn't hinder their friendship. Or maybe the half-glass of champagne was opening her body language up to more eyes than was comfortable for her. Either way, Mina offered her a light before she could even get a cigarette out.

Annie lit a cigarette and, after some quick small talk with Mina, padded down the deck steps to the kiddie pool, a plastic green thing with octopi and fish smiling on the bottom. Connie's youngest siblings, twins Sunny and Martin, liked to play in it with Spike, but with them gone, it was a perfect chance to get her feet wet and take a smoke by herself. Spike walked between her and the group on the deck, occasionally sitting beside them for pats or showing off the various sticks he had gathered.

She hadn't been by the kiddie pool for ten minutes before she heard the slide of the backdoor and the familiar rowdy yell.

"Hey, party people! What are you hoggin' the deck for?!"

Reiner—and Bertholdt, by association. Regardless of their relationship status, they could still be found attached at the hip. She always heard them before she saw them, and there was only one explanation for why they were out here.

"Go back inside," she said before the duo was even down the steps. "Outdoors sex is not worth it."

Bertholdt frowned and blushed at her sarcasm, though Reiner's laugh was a ruse for being flustered. "Been there, done that," he said. Her comment did nothing to stop either of them from coming down the stairs. Reiner sat down in the only other available chair and pulled Bertholdt into his lap before he reached out in wait for a cigarette. Annie placed her wet foot in his palm instead, and he recoiled back. "Hey, I just want one, I promise!"

"You turn eighteen in two and a half months. You can wait."

"Yeah, and we've both been smoking since we were sixteen. Quit enforcing a law you didn't even follow."

Annie ignored the reason why they both got hooked on smoking in the first place—relationship and family troubles, mostly—and handed her pack over. Bertholdt crinkled his nose at the Newport logo and looked over his shoulder at his boyfriend. "I'm not kissing you if you smoke. I don't like the taste."

Reiner, offended, tossed the pack back over to Annie, cigarette-less, and wrapped his arms around Bertholdt's middle instead. "I'm stressed, Bertl, and I can't even drink. What am I supposed to do?"

"We're not going back home until the morning," Annie pointed out. "Why can't you drink?" Normally, at one of their group's parties, Reiner ran the bar with Armin, but he always found time to make himself something.

"He thinks something bad is gonna happen," Bertholdt answered, his hands intertwining with Reiner's. "I think it was a misunderstanding, but he's seeing it as an omen."

"Because you didn't see what I saw!" Reiner protested. He was already breaking into an explanation, but Annie didn't need one. Bertholdt was always more believable in these situations. "Armin offered to take over the bar so I could hang out with Bert, and we wanted to make sure he was fully stocked, so we were grabbing a few extra bottles and some cups, and Eren and Jean were talking in the kitchen—"

Annie couldn't resist. She saw the chance and took it, taking a sip of her drink with a musing hum. "Yeah, sounds like a bad omen."

"He's not done," Bertholdt sighed. Oh, this was about to get good.

Reiner prodded his boyfriend's side in retaliation. "They were talking casually for once, something about rooming together for next year, and then Mikasa came in, and she grabbed Eren's shoulder and asked if he wanted to head outside, and he swatted her away before she even finished speaking."

"Which isn't new." Annie nodded in agreement; Eren pushing Mikasa away, for one reason or another, wasn't uncommon. Although, yes, physically pushing was rare, but it was only ever in jest or an accident.

"No, but see, Bert only _heard_ it. I _saw_ it."

"With your eyes?" Annie asked.

Reiner scowled but continued. "As soon as her hand landed on his shoulder, he hit it. And pushed it off. Even Jean was surprised by it."

"Jean is also tipsy right now," Bertholdt pointed out.

"And a lightweight," Annie added.

"Right. So everything surprises him. When we held hands, he acted like it was the first time he had ever seen it."

"So like Reiner, he was overreacting."

"Exactly."

Reiner burrowed his face into Bertholdt's neck with a groan, pouting into his shoulder. How they had grown up with a child like him was beyond Annie's understanding. "You both suck. I'm dumping you, Bert."

"Finally," Annie said with a teasing scoff. "Now you can avoid each other on campus and hate each other forever." She reached the end of her cigarette and stood up to grind it out against the deck, sliding it back in her pack. "My lifelong dream."

He poked his face out from hiding to look up at her. "If you had to stay friends with one of us, who would you choose?"

"Bertholdt." Said boy mumbled something under his breath before taking a swig of his drink. Reiner snorted and stifled his laughter into his shoulder. Whatever he had said, especially about her, was suddenly very important. "What'd you say, _piernas_?"

Bert shook his head, his cup still at his lips. "I didn't say anything."

"So why is Reiner laughing?"

"I'm not laughing, I'm just reminiscing," Reiner stated firmly, his expression hardening into seriousness for a brief moment before it broke. "Hey, by the way, if you could hook up with anyone in our friend group besides us, who would it be?"

Bertholdt didn't have to repeat what he said. Annie already knew what he had murmured, and combined with Reiner's question, she wasn't happy with it. And it didn't help that, as she recalled, Reiner had mentioned Mikasa wanting to go outside, which could have been made up on the spot to mess with her. Normally, she would have caught on quicker to such suggestions, but the alcohol might have helped muddle her brain a bit. So, seeing revenge as her only option, she did what any girl would do: she poured the remains of her drink on both of them and then slapped Bertholdt's out of his hand. That seemed to silence them quickly.

"Whoops," she said with zero apology or amusement. And without looking back, she walked up the deck and into the house.

The crowd had divided evenly at that point, still dancing and partying but also resting and chatting with familiar faces, more people mingling in the kitchen. Annie spotted Mikasa at the bar set up between the two rooms, chatting with Armin, no Eren in sight. Any other day, she would have taken a chance and talked to the dark-haired girl, especially when she looked like she descended from grace above, with a red ribbon in her hair and a touch of makeup and a blouse and jeans that shaped her figure just right—

But even the daring rush of alcohol that wanted to throw caution to the wind and just talk to her was overpowered by how uneasy she felt. She pulled Connie away from a conversation with Sasha, who were standing too close for comfort and staring wide-eyed at each other. Maybe, once she cleared her head, she could work on hooking them up.

"I'm gonna go see your birds," she said without room for protest. Connie waved her along and wished her well, too absorbed in Sasha's hair to truly focus. That was all she needed.

As she walked into the hallway, she found Jean and Marco, lips connected and roving for more. Jean, pressed against the closet door, had tangled his hand in dark hair and was pulling with each movement of their tongue and lips. Marco was lifting his hand up Jean's shirt, fingers roaming across pale skin. The noises they were making—the groans accompanied with the small thrusts of their hips—made it more than obvious that they were enjoying every second of their hallway make-out session.

 _Good for them_ , Annie thought, as bitter as it was. It was a shame, though, that she had run into them. "That's really gay."

The two broke apart as soon as she talked, Jean clawing into the closet door behind him and Marco backing up to the opposite wall. Annie didn't spend time dwelling on the registered shock or their reactions and walked between them to get to the spare room. It was mostly used as a free space, sometimes to separate Sunny and Martin when they fought or for Connie's rare study nights. Annie recalled just last year, when they were reviewing material for one of the AP exams, and he was surrounded by Skittles, notebook paper, and an assortment of books.

The most noticeable feature of the room, however, was the corner bird cage in the room, where the Springers' two cockatoos were being kept. Prince Harry was snoozing, but Cheryl was up and still bouncing around on her perch. She greeted Annie when she came into the room, but paused when she stepped closer to the cage. Annie knew from experience to wait until Cheryl—an unusual name for a bird, but the bird herself was already unusual—was ready to see her past the cage door. Once she got the approval—a head tilt and a soft "hi, hi"—she opened the door and let Cheryl step onto her fingers and up her arm.

“You’re an understanding woman, right?” She mumbled. She glanced over at Prince Harry, flapping his wings and blinking in a daze. “How do you get a person to look at you when all you’ve done is pushed them away?”

“You can just ask them.”

Cheryl had given a response of various clicks and a ruffle of her feathers, but it was Mikasa who had delivered the verbal reply. Annie's gut tightened and her throat closed up. This was the one thing she had tried to avoid, the one thing she could have avoided, and the one thing she failed to do. Suddenly, the room felt much smaller.

"Armin thought he saw you come in here," she said. She stepped inside the room to greet Cheryl with a raised hand. The cockatoo jumped over to her hand and waddled down her arm to rest on her shoulder.

"Why is Armin monitoring me?" Annie scoffed. "I didn't know he applied to be my dad."

"He just noticed you, is all." Mikasa raised a hand to gently pet Cheryl with the side of her finger. Each movement was graceful and easy, breathing with an effortless nature; the same hands that could throw a punch or block an attack could pet an animal much smaller than her. She was skilled and enchanting, and Annie mentally kicked herself for daydreaming. _Focus on the conversation._ "Have you seen Eren?"

Oh. Of course. The dutiful sister looking for her brother. Prince Harry scooted on his perch and ruffled his feathers; Annie reached into the cage and scratched the top of his head. "No. I haven't. I've been outside."

"Mm. You smell like cigarettes."

Annie narrowed her eyes at her, though judging by her somewhat-almost-friend's reaction, Mikasa's comment was far from rude or malicious. It was almost in jest, if either of them were used to making jokes and poking fun at one another to get a laugh. Usually, they did it to unnerve the other. For a majority of the time, it worked. "Thanks."

"What made you come inside?"

"Reiner and Bertholdt are idiots and I hate them."

Mikasa made a sound similar to a laugh, and a small smile ghosted on her lips. "I'm not surprised."

"Speaking of hate," Annie turned to look at her and crossed her arms, "I thought you despised me enough to never look at me willingly, and yet here you are, looking for me."

The taller girl thought about it for a moment, and then she shrugged. She let Cheryl walk her way to her wrist and led her back in the cage. "I don't despise you. I enjoy pushing your buttons."

There was no way this was happening. Not to Annie, who made a snide comment every time Mikasa so much as breathed; who had fought her so many times throughout the years, it was now impossible to keep track; who felt no hope of ever leaving the hostile air that she had enveloped around them. "Well, you do a good job of it."

Mikasa didn't say anything, but her quiet laughter broke the composure Annie tried to keep up. This girl was good at breaking defenses, whether she knew it or not.

Annie cleared her throat and adjusted the hem of her shirt. She should have kept her hoodie on; who cares if she didn't look right for a party? She felt more like herself when she wore what she wanted. "Why do you want to know about Eren? Don't you live together?" Her tone wasn't supposed to be so scalding, but she let it slip before she could stop herself. Maybe Mikasa would take it another way.

"He's been acting strange lately. Especially today." Her tone became somber and heavy, but for what reason, Annie wasn't sure. Mikasa always kept her intentions tightly shut.

"What's going on?" Annie bit her tongue after the words left her lips—the alcohol was doing a wonderful and also terrible job—but maybe it could provide a chance for Mikasa to let some of her worries go. As somewhat-almost-friends do.

Thankfully, with a small defeated sigh, Mikasa saw the opportunity and took the chance. Or maybe she had been drinking and was just as relaxed as Annie was. "He's been slacking on his chores and fighting with Dad. Mom thinks it's because of her, but Eren won't talk about it to anyone."

Reiner had mentioned Eren's backlash towards Mikasa when she tried to reach him, and the bad feeling he got from it, but there was no way he could be right. He was smart, sure, and somewhat aware of his surroundings, but not about this. It was a coincidence, just typical behavior, nothing out of the ordinary or strange or unusual. Reiner had to be wrong. "What do you think it's for?"

Mikasa shrugged, her eyes downcast. "It could be because of Mom—it would make sense. He's gotten upset with her before. But he would have at least told me about it, like last time." She let out a breath, almost inaudible, and folded her hands in front of her to stop their fidgeting. "Maybe I'm paranoid. In August, it'll be the first time we've been separated since I was adopted."

Annie remembered The Great University Debate well: Eren demanded Mikasa went to the university she wanted to attend, not the one where he would be, despite her wishes to follow and keep an eye on him. It lasted throughout all of junior year, with a tiny break for summer, and was only brought up once at the beginning of senior year. Eren had already applied to his schools, as had Mikasa, and when her acceptance letter came in the mail from the school she loved, Eren couldn’t see how she could ever give up that opportunity. So she decided to go. There was a four-hour distance between the schools, and she at least had Annie and Armin with her. But the diminished time that she and Eren were going to have with one another was still going to affect her.

“You know,” Annie spoke up, not sure what her end goal was but happy to provide something to the conversation, “Eren will still come home. And we can see him when football season starts. The first home game is against Petra’s school, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. But that’s one weekend, in August.”

“The end of August. And you’ll have me and Armin, even though I despise you.” Mikasa’s expression lightened up slightly at the reassurance, but it only lasted for a brief second. Annie wondered if she could get it to stay longer. “Plus, you can FaceTime, like, anytime. And you know he’ll be safe, because he’s going with four people we know.”

Mikasa smiled, faintly, and looked up at her in amusement. “Do you really think Jean would watch over Eren willingly?”

“I always said they need to have sex _once_ and they’ll get over their stupid feud. So you never know, right?"

"Yeah." She looked relieved, at least for the moment, and Annie was already taking whatever she could get. If this was one of those rare moments where she could be polite and not remember her affection for the dark-haired girl, then so be it. "You're right."

Annie snorted. The attitude was rising, and just when she was starting to feel like she had made progress. "Well, that's a first, coming from you."

Mikasa laughed quietly, bowing her head to shroud her expression. Annie's heart dropped into her gut. _Shit._ "I think the alcohol is working."

"You and me both. Maybe Armin should drop out of college while he has the chance and get a bartending license."

"It's not a bad idea. But then it'll be just you and me, and who knows how that'll end up?"

"Ha!" Annie cleared her throat at her sudden outburst, crossing her arms to clench her fists and stop the trembling. Why was she so nervous? The emotions that were colliding inside of her were starting to cloud her better judgment. Being friendly with Mikasa—of all people at the party, Mikasa Ackerman had to walk in the room—was not part of her regular routine. That meant she had friendly feelings for her, and if that was discovered, then it was only a matter of time before the actual admiration started to bleed through. "Um. Yeah. That might not be…be a good idea."

Either she didn't notice the strange behavior or she didn't comment on it, for Mikasa walked over to the couch on the other side of the room with a quiet hum in acknowledgement. Annie kept her eyes away from the sway of her hips, as an attempt to steady her hammering heart. "I don't know. We're doing okay now." Mikasa sat down and softly patted the spot beside her. When she got no response, she chuckled under her breath and the small smile appeared again. "You can sit down."

"I know." With a hurried scuffle made out of excitement and anxiety, Annie plopped down on the couch next to her. She made sure she sat on the other cushion and not the same one. "I guess I'm not used to us being, y'know…nice to each other. And I might be a little tipsy."

The smile stayed. If Mikasa didn't hear her heartbeat before, she definitely heard it now. "Is that the only reason why we're being civil?"

"Maybe I'm actually Reiner or Krista and you just don't see it yet."

"Maybe, but the nose gives you away."

Annie nudged her knee with her foot, her hand still preoccupied with shaking with worry that she would slip up at any moment. She had to keep some semblance of control. "Thanks, asshole."

"There it is." Annie was too busy thinking of a comeback—which was very difficult to do after a cocktail and some champagne, and also sitting next to a romantic interest who has only received scoldings and no real positive interaction from her—and almost missed the slight concern that flitted over Mikasa's features. "I guess you just needed some air, huh?"

There was no way she knew about her fear. No, it was impossible—well, okay, not impossible. Outside of the bond of friendship and secrecy that was almost cult-like in its function, personally known as Reiner and Bertholdt, only Armin knew about her claustrophobia, and as intelligent and kind as he was, there was no secret he could keep. The pressure was too much. If Mikasa found out from him, then she would have to get her hands dirty.

Mikasa must have read her mind, and answered her qualms after a brief beat of silence. "Armin told me." _That boy is dead._ "But he only told me because I asked about it."

"Why would you need to ask?"

"I just notice things."

"Well, maybe you should stop. That's none of your business." Hiding a debilitating phobia was the one thing she had control of—it was bad enough that a dog walking by could break her down in a second. Now she's finding out that she isn't as stealthy as she thinks when it comes to hiding her fear, so what else did she have?

"I was just concerned." The familiar steely gray, the thin downturned lips, the silent straightening of her back: the pleasant conversation they had just shared was disappearing. "I'm not trying to invade your personal space."

It was true, in a sense—Mikasa didn't just care about anyone. If she showed concern, it meant she was worried about the wellbeing of a good friend. It was a compliment, and though Annie was yelling at herself to just accept it and be nice, there was still a tiny part of her—ironically enough, the part that was now fueled by alcohol and helped her open up in the first place—that wanted to be difficult. So she scoffed and looked away, let her hair fall in front of her face, and took her typical defensive stance. "That still doesn't explain why you're concerned about me in the first place."

Mikasa huffed—something that Annie hadn't thought of her to do, something exclusive for her brother or another more immature friend. But she did it all the same. And she leaned forward so that she could get Annie's gaze back on her. "This might sound weird coming from me, because I might be a little tipsy too. But even if we disagree and fight a lot, I still see you as a friend. And before you say anything, I know you don't see me like that, but _I_ at least do, for you."

Oh. Well. That changed things a little. Mikasa sat back against the couch, but Annie kept her stare aimed at the floor. The alcohol was definitely doing a good job at opening the usually stoic and introverted Mikasa up and revealing her to the world. From what she recalled at past parties, where Mikasa wasn't the DD and had the chance to drink alcohol, she was an easygoing drunk who often hiccuped and swayed, eyes half-lidded and content to sip at her drink to, quote, "make the drunk stay longer." But there was nothing easygoing about Mikasa now. If it wasn't for her confession, Annie would have thought she hadn't had a sip of any alcohol in her system all night. And yet there the tipsy truth sat between them, tense and rigid in its delivery but sincere in its intentions.

There were a thousand and one things Annie could have done: disagreed with every word she had uttered, laughed at her for being sentimental or drunk or both, throw up on her shoes, change the subject to something less intimate, or more intimate. She could have even said nothing at all. Maybe, if she just stayed quiet, Mikasa would have left and never mentioned it again, and they would pick up right where they left off before the party. But it didn't happen like that. Annie couldn't find the strength to let any of those things happen.

"Actually, I don't—" She cleared her throat, unraveled her arms to clutch her knees, and she looked up at the girl beside her. The distance between them had somehow grown closer, if only by an inch or two. She noticed it like she noticed the small details that made up Mikasa: the curve of her jaw, the curl of her hair against her cheek, the intricate features of her face that make her strikingly beautiful to anyone she walked past. Even if Annie didn't feel anything but friendship for her, she would still believe she was the most attractive person she had met. "I don't think badly of you."

Mikasa stared straight at her, a flicker of surprise in her eyes that struck Annie with disappointment. Had their relationship really reached that point? That any type of kindness shown to one another was foreign and uncommon? Maybe she deserved it, for all the times she had caused a fight or provoked Eren to gain Mikasa’s attention, or the attention she paid to her interests just so they could start a conversation that led to an argument. But Mikasa was a temptation, an accidental crush that blossomed into something beyond her control. It shouldn’t have prospered in the first place, but it prevailed against the mean words and cruel actions she so easily delivered. Annie wished she could change things so that liking Mikasa—genuinely liking her, not just in a romantic sense—could have been possible without initial animosity.

Mikasa finally broke eye contact, stormy gray focusing on the rug in the middle of the room, and nodded. A tiny hiccup broke free past her lips. “Okay.”

She was precious. Her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol, fingers nimble as she absently twirled a strand of hair. When she made eye contact once again, her eyes were wide and flashing with a swirl of emotions not regularly allowed at the surface, unreadable but at least present. Annie had gotten herself so distracted, so enamored, she couldn’t stop herself from speaking. “Actually, I think of you as a friend too. Somewhat. Kind of a friend, but like…also not.”

That was definitely not the right response. Mikasa frowned almost instantly, and her eyebrows furrowed down. “Okay.”

“I didn’t—shit.” Annie sighed and shifted on the couch. Her eyes stayed down in case the worst happened. “Let me just show you, okay?”

When she heard no verbal response, Annie glanced up at her to gauge her reaction. Mikasa was contemplating the request, probably analyzing it from every angle in her head and weighing the outcomes. She was meticulous, and she had a viable reason to be so when it involved the tiny blonde. And caution and safety were expected speeches from Mikasa; it was what she wished for everyone who was allowed to be close to her. She looked over at Annie slowly, and she gave a reassuring smile, and she nodded. “Okay.”

Annie huffed at her response. “Come on, Mik, say more than that.” She barely registered the new nickname—Mik, that sounded nice—and then she was leaning forward and kissing her. It lasted for a few seconds, just a chaste kiss on the lips, and left Annie reeling with how quickly it had gone. A fire exploded in her head and in her stomach, and she fell back with relief, lips tingling. She was about to comment on how long she had thought of doing that, how long it dwelled in her mind as a “What could be” that might never come, when she looked up and found Mikasa staring at her, dumbfounded and thrown off-track from her actions.

 _Oh no._ No, it was a trick of the light, it had to be. Maybe Mikasa sharing a mutual affection for her was a one in a million chance, but she didn’t have to look so scared. It was just a kiss. Right?

“Say more than that, Mikasa.”

She should have asked before leaning forward. She should have made sure Mikasa was okay with stuff like that—not everyone was gay, or bi, or whatever label that felt right to them. What if Mikasa wasn’t interested in girls? What if she didn’t have an interest in _anyone_? Why wouldn’t she just say _something_ and stop her racing heart?

Mikasa hiccuped, clutching her chest, and whispered a soft “um” into the air. It was one syllable, but it said more than Annie needed to hear. Forget the distant emotions swarming in stormy gray, the concern and the curiosity and their conversation altogether. Annie's actions were not welcome. Her feelings were not returned or reciprocated. Nothing needed to be said.

Annie stood and started to walk out of the room. She needed air again. The claustrophobia that she had initially escaped from had come back and surrounded her, pulling at her throat and drowning her without a way out. This time, instead of social interaction in its content, it was the overwhelming reminder that the twinges in her heart were unrequited. And while she didn't prefer it—being friends, period, was not a bad thing, even if it wasn't ideal—she could at least bear it. But at that moment, Annie needed to separate herself. Mikasa said something behind her, something about where she was, but she couldn’t piece it together. Her goal was to get out of that room and as far away from Mikasa Ackerman as possible.

The one thing she did register was a body bumping into her as she stepped out into the hallway, the figure fumbling to tug his shirt down as his shoulder knocked into hers. When she saw that it was Eren, the stone in her stomach only fell further. Of course it was him; he was entwined between the two girls, whether he was aware of it or not. Eren's breath came out in hurried puffs, eyes wide and gawking at her. His lips were slick with saliva and his hair was sticking up in a dozen different directions. When he saw his sister, he shoved past Annie, to a chorus of questions from Mikasa and the shutting of the bird room door.

Annie would have continued on her way if Armin hadn’t stumbled behind her with an equally puzzled expression. There was a particularly wet purple spot on his neck that was poorly hidden by the collar of his dress shirt. And if Eren’s hair had been messy, Armin’s was a bird’s nest. It was clear to Annie that they had had slightly more luck in the romance department than she had. Which reminded her: _you’re an idiot for kissing her in the first place._

“Having fun?” Annie asked him. Her question was meant to be scathing, but it only sounded pitiful and downtrodden. She needed more alcohol.

Armin licked his lips and fixed his hair, frowning at the difficulty to straighten it up to his liking again. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s hard to tell right now.”

"I feel that." She gazed back at the shut door behind her, tempted to listen to whatever was going on behind it, but decided against it. Mikasa had wanted to find Eren all along, and now she had the moment she was looking for. "What's the best thing to help clear my memory?"

There was a reason she liked Armin. He never had to ask about vague references like Reiner, and he never wordlessly tried to share his concern like Bertholdt. He accepted that whatever she was going through was too much for her to voice, and she would do it on her own time. He let out a long sigh and smiled—almost sadly. "If the bar hasn't been shut down, I think I can make you something."

"A Long Island iced tea?"

"Only if you'll split it with me."

"Sure." If anything told her from how quickly Eren had run out and how disheveled they both looked, they needed it more than ever.

Armin took a brief moment to straighten up his hair and collar in the bathroom—his hands pausing over the bruise on his neck for a second, either to sear it into his skin or rub it away—before he headed back out to the bar. Although some new bottles had been opened and cups had been refilled, it was still in one piece; their friend Boris had watched over the bar and was more than happy to give the space back. Annie stayed close behind Armin, keeping her eyes down in case anyone familiar—specifically, anyone in her friend group—caught sight of her. The last thing she wanted was to talk to anyone—besides Armin, of course. He was supplying her alcohol and he was the least likely to berate her before she was ready to open up. Besides, judging by her once-over, he was in an equally bad state as her.

Interestingly enough, it took only a few sips from the cocktail before Annie found herself spilling out words. The strong drink was already taking hold of her, the exact reason for why she requested it in the first place. "I kissed Mikasa."

Armin glanced up at her as he sipped at their drink. He toyed with his straw, probably mulling things over as best he could, before he decided to answer. "And she didn't kiss back."

"Let's say that. It means the exact fucking same thing as being rejected." Annie leaned against the bar, gripping a half-empty bottle of gin. “I didn’t even say anything about it. I just did it, like an entitled straight white boy.”

"Hmmm."

"I mean, jeez. How far have I dropped to do something so stupid?"

Armin scrunched his nose. "It was pretty stupid."

"No shit, alert."

He straightened up from his slouch to refill a partygoer's drink. "Whatever reason you have for doing it doesn’t matter, you know. Punishing yourself because of it isn’t gonna help."

Annie brushed her finger against a chip in the wood, boring her gaze into its surface. “Yeah, I know.” If she could come up with a better answer for that, she would have given it. The only thing she had was a confession on how much That Girl made her heart throb and thrum every time she tossed her hair over her shoulder or bowed her head to shyly smile. Even in her alcohol-flooded mind, it was the only reason she could come up with. "I made a fool outta myself.”

“You think so?”

“I know I did. It's like…" She glanced up at Armin so he could hear and see the severity of her words. "It's like we're falling apart. She's not gonna wanna look or talk to me after tonight."

Armin waited until they were alone again and squeezed her hand over the gin bottle. The gesture made her feel a little better, though equally as sick that she was perceptive to such pity. At least Armin opening the gin and taking a swig made her feel a little better. He even passed it over to her to do the same. "Love is fuckin' weird."

Annie held the clear bottle to her chest with a grunt. "It's stupid and it hurts." She glanced up at him, unsure if she should make a comment, but the words were already coming out. “Is that what happened to you? Your love got kicked out like mine?”

Armin grimaced. He took a long sip from their shared drink and shook his head. “My situation is much more than that. Trust me.” A beat of silence, and then his expression softened. "Go enjoy yourself, Annie. Even if it's one night, you should have fun."

"Fun isn't real."

"But it's something that can still distract you.” A few more swaying teens stumbled up to the bar with requests and required his attention, but he made the effort to glance over at her one last time before he addressed them. "If you do, I promise I'll find some of my own."

Well. At least there was that. If she didn't care for him like siblings did, and if she wasn’t emotionally invested in someone else, maybe she would have pounced over the bar and made out with him. But the gin reminded her that he wasn't what either of them needed from each other—she suddenly had someone else in mind who could suffice—so she leaned over the counter and kissed his forehead tenderly to seal their deal. He didn't demand her affection be shared in words; her actions were enough.

With a new mission in mind, Annie turned back to walk outside and find Mina. Just as she had thought, the dark-haired girl had barely left her spot on the back deck and was leaning against the railing. Her typical friend group was scattered on the back porch and greeted her when she walked out, though it was much more slurred than it had been before. Mina looked up at her and smiled before waving the girl over.

"Long time, no see," she winked. The blonde only nodded to her and scooted beside her. "Are you having a fun night?"

"It could be better," she admitted. Reiner and Bertholdt were still outside, but thankfully they were too distracted playing with Spike and flirting with each other to pay attention to the scene behind them. One less guilt trip for her. "How's yours?"

"Decent, actually." Mina toyed with a stray lock of hair that had slipped out from her hair ties. "Hannah shotgunned a beer and made everyone jealous, so that was enjoyable."

"Nice."

"Yeah, it's interesting to see how quickly some boys can get defensive over little things like tha—"

"Do you wanna make out?"

Mina, cut off from her jovial conversation, stared at Annie in shock. The unlit cigarette in her hand fell from her grasp and bounced on her shoe. Annie forced her eyes down, fidgeting with her top while embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Why did she say it so nonchalantly? Why did she ask without any preface or even to find out if there were any feelings behind it? They were friends, but did it extend beyond for Mina? Because for Annie, even if she had spent a few months with her sexually, did not reciprocate any kind of romance for her.

After a long moment of silence, her gaze wandered back to gather Mina's reaction. The other girl was biting her lip and staring off to the side. She had picked up the dropped cigarette and was fiddling with the filter. She was contemplating the offer, that much was obvious, but she didn't reveal what that entailed for Annie's case. Maybe that was for the better.

"Um."

Annie stayed still, staring at the deck's floor, but flinched when a hand brushed against hers. The fingers traced a random pattern against hers and pulled back before she could press their palms together. Was she regretting the move, or—

"I…I will, but…only if you tell me why." Mina stood up straight and looked at her. Dark hair and gray eyes reminded her of a girl she wanted to forget, but also of a wish that wouldn't be granted. She had to accept it, so she would find a new outlet to let out her emotions.

"I did something dumb," she whispered. "And I don't want to remember it. But I’m not ready to let go of it yet."

Judging by the look on her face, Mina must have understood the reference. Despite her relationship with Armin and Eren, both who she was friends with, Annie’s affection for Mikasa sprouted at the same time as their affair—which made it easy for Mina to step closer to her with confidence. Her hands locked at the small of her back, lightly tracing her spine. There was little difference in height between them, but there was enough for Annie to rest her head under Mina’s chin.

“If that’s what you really want,” she whispered, “but I can’t replace the pain you’re feeling. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” Annie admitted, more for the sake of reassurance than anything. “You’re not replacing it.”

“Except I am.” Mina stepped back to look at her, serious and critical. “I’m not dumb, Annie. I can clearly see what you’re trying to do.”

Annie bowed her head and scoffed. This was a dumb idea after all. Was there nothing good for her to do tonight?

“If you say her name, it’s over.”

“Wh—” Annie was suddenly turned around and pulled back into the house. Mina was leading the way and was unrelenting in her grasp. Before she could say anything, much less finish what she was trying to utter before, she found herself in the bathroom, back pressed against the counter as Mina kissed her. Her lips were the type of familiarity Annie wished for, even if the person she was kissing held little else for her. The passion was comprised of lust and nothing more, a platonic connection with all the appearance of romantic implications. And it only made her thirsty for more.

Annie’s hands roamed up Mina’s body to caress her cheeks, her movements starting tender but breaking into searing desire. Her mouth opened and poked at her lips, and tongues tangled together. Heavy breathing rang in her ears and became indistinguishable. The curve of the counter’s edge dug into her spine, and when Annie opened her eyes, she was met with complete darkness.

Her hand stumbled against the wall to switch the light on, and she broke apart from Mina to allow better access for tiny bites and nibbles against her jawbone. She went down her neck to her chest, to which Annie pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. It was an obstacle anyway. Better to get them out of the way now rather than later.

“Impatient?” Mina breathed out, lips twisting up teasingly.

Annie scowled, a warning to not take her time. It was not the right moment for that. Thankfully, her message was understood, and the other girl continued her trek down her chest to her pants. One hand slipped up to her bra and teased her breasts beneath the fabric. The hooks were too far away, and Annie was too distracted to fumble in taking it off.

When her lower half was removed of clothing and a warm pair of lips ducked down from view, Annie officially lost track of time. She didn’t remember the amount of times she orgasmed, nor the amount in which she paid the favor back. She remembers someone popping in, unfazed by her presence there, but nothing beyond that. It was as if she was caught in a time block, where only the feeling of Mina between her legs and her hands and their entwined rushes of euphoria were registered.

And, of course, the one thing she thought she could get rid of, which was Mikasa.

“Do you feel better?” Mina asked quietly once they were too tired to continue. They were collapsed on top of each other, limbs tangled on the bathroom floor. In their scuffle, their hair had come undone from their respective styles, and Mina now toyed with the stray blonde strands.

Annie scolded herself before giving her answer; even now, after everything, she was unable to distract herself. Through the smell of sex and the noises from both ends, she was unable to clear her head. Mikasa was a parasite on her mind, clinging to the edges and infecting herself into Annie’s thoughts without concern. If sex with another woman, regardless of the similarities they may carry, was unable to help, what else was there for her? If she had done it with a guy, would it have been enough?

“I wish,” Annie whispered, “that I could say I’m okay. I really liked what you did.” For a split second, a small smile appeared. “You still got it, Carolina. But…” She hesitated before her confession, fear suddenly striking her at what would become of them. “I’m still thinking about her.”

Mina sat up straight, fumbling for her hair tie to make her hair more presentable. A frown was etched on her face as she tangled with the strands. Annie stayed silent and kept her head bowed. She thought she would have no response until Mina leaned forward and pecked her forehead gingerly and lifted her chin up gently to offer a sad smile. “You have a lot of pain. It won’t be okay immediately after. But it can get better.”

That was why she found Mina in the first place. She knew what to say, how to say it, and when. Her words were laced with genuity and care, and she was soft to hold, both physically and for the heart. Whoever found companionship with her would be a lucky person. Annie wished she could have mustered up the strength to be with her. If only Mikasa hadn’t gotten in the way.

The girls dressed and helped each other look better, more to hide their activity than actual decency. Annie kept her hair hair down, if only to make Mikasa jealous. Mina giggled quietly and commented on how bad she was, which only earned her a slap on the arm.

When they walked outside, the living room was completely barren of people save for eleven onlookers Annie had come to refer to as her friend group. She and Mina had come out in the middle of a speech from Reiner, and the eyes of the room flicked over to them instantly. The party had ended and been replaced with a catastrophic and problematic scene. Bertholdt, Connie, and Armin were at the backdoor, standing behind Reiner. Historia was beside him, her tiny frame struck in a state of shock. In the middle of the living room, Jean had a black eye and a dripping nose; Ymir’s hands were clenched, and Sasha had wound her arms around her. Marco’s eyes were puffy, and Eren kept on sniffling and rubbing his nose. On the floor were solo cups and spills, crumbs and decorations, and they were the eye of the post-high school hurricane.

Mina sheepishly walked to the door without a word, smiling back at her before she left. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” She asked. Annie simply nodded, hoping that she wouldn’t leave her to deal with the catastrophic scene, but then she was gone.

Annie ignored whatever else Reiner had to say and mentally picked out the alcoholic beverages she was going to consume as soon as he finished talking. Something had happened while she enjoyed herself in the bathroom, but she wasn’t sure what. At least Mikasa’s eyes stayed trained on her, from the tangles of her hair to the hickey on her collarbone that peeked out from her shirt. The reaction was hidden underneath layers of protection, but at least there was something there.

Once everyone was dispersed and allowed to leave without a furious Reiner preventing it, Annie gathered three bottles of semi-full alcohol and headed to the basement. She ignored the words from Bertholdt and Connie that followed after her. She didn’t need to be in that room any longer. All she needed was some drinks and some sleep. Her sobriety had appeared as soon as sex became an option. Maybe she could recount some details from that moment to help her sleep better.

Annie settled herself on one of the bean bag chairs and opened a bottle of rum. The burn down her throat helped muddle her mind and relax her body into the fabric beneath her. If she fell asleep there, so be it. That spot was comfortable anyway. The basement door opened, and two sets of footprints came down, followed by Armin’s soft voice. She kept her eyes closed and her head back. She would only converse with them if they made the first step.

After a few minutes of bedmaking and relaxing into the swirl of rum inside her, Marco—the other presence downstairs—spoke to her. He had only communicated in soft murmurs or hums until then, for what must have been the same reason that rimmed his eyes with red and made his nose runny. “Are you going to sleep there?”

Annie, head lolling to gaze at him, opened her eye uncovered by hair. “Do you have a problem if I do?”

He shook his head; whatever had gone down upstairs must have been damaging. Normally, Marco was social and chatting, and at the settling point of their parties, he always asked how everyone was and made sure they had water and quick access to a bathroom. For him to act so distant and dazed was unusual and far from his normal behavior. “Just asking.”

Annie, at that point, was only thinking of one thing, and it was only getting harder to continue critical thought. She passed one of her hoarded bottles over and poked the cap. “It’ll do you good. Trust me.”

Marco eyed it suspiciously, but he still took a swig from the gin, lips smacking at the taste. If it helped him in any way, Annie didn’t know. If Armin was condemning her for influencing her bad mood onto Marco, she didn’t pay attention. She simply shut her eyes and swayed underneath the rum’s effects, swimming in a pleasant buzz and succumbing to heavy sleep.


	5. Hurricane Jaeger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each problem in Eren Jaeger's life has gotten worse than the one before. Category five is what happens when each issue piles together and bombards him for attention until he can no longer tell which way is up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhhhh *nervously sweats* How about them Eagles, right?
> 
> Both writer's block and holiday exchanges made me put my stories on hold. Thankfully, now I can focus on them again, yaaaay! I'll get this story finished with before updating "007" again, since it's shorter and way harder to write because of consistency and All That Jazz.  
> Btw, if you find any inconsistency, for whatever reason, let me know so I can fix it! I tried to cover my tracks, by reviewing the other chapters and my outline, but you never know. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Head's up for some different ships than what is in the tags. Mostly Ereri and some faint, there-if-you-squint Jeankasa and Jearmin.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the super late update; I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> CAUTION WARNING for gender dysphoria and references to self-harm.

Eren was in a panic.

While everyone else was getting ready for the party, messing with one another and waiting for him to come out, he was staring at his reflection in the Springers’ basement bathroom. He had used mother nature as the reason for locking himself in for so long, because it was easier to explain than the actual reason. Which, for the record, actually looked good against his tan skin. He should start shopping for more periwinkle in the future. The bra was a little spacious, having nothing on his chest to fill, but the underwear was a surprising fit. He couldn’t believe he had gotten so lucky.

“Eren, are you okay? You’ve been in there for like, ten years!”

Sasha’s voice behind the door startled him out of his stupor. He tossed his shirt over his head and tugged his pants on, sighing in relief when he saw that no lines showed where the female undergarments were. Someone would have to pat his shoulder and feel the strap for themselves to find his secret—which only made everything worse. His plan could fail incredibly.

“Just a second!” He called out as he flushed the toilet. When he turned on the faucet to wash his hands, he wished that the confusion in his head would go down the drain as well.

Eren didn’t remember when the uncertainty over his gender became significant to his identity. He had believed he was male for his entire life, even if he had wandered into his mother’s closet and paraded around in her heels. But every boy did that, even if they weren’t gay or trans, right? Middle school age felt like the best time for the change to occur, at least in his own mental timeline, but that was when Mikasa came into his life, and perhaps the possibility of a girl in his life had made the difference. Or maybe it was just recently; after coming to terms with his sexuality and watching his friends morph into their own, he saw just how non-binary the world was. And gender was included in that package, separate from sexuality but arguably more vital to who he was.

It wasn’t even like the idea of someone being genderqueer was new. Hanji, after all, was agender and had no preference for the pronouns people used for them. Nanaba was genderfluid and often searched the men’s section at clothing stores. The conversations were not foreign for him, and yet Eren still found himself waking up at 3 AM and gasping for breath, because he didn’t feel right in his own body.

And so he took matters into his own hands, determined to find the best solution for his growing dysphoria. He Googled questions and topics, he asked Hanji with sworn secrecy to keep the word from Levi—his maybe potential love interest didn’t have to know what was going on until he figured it all out—he even painted his nails, taking a bottle from his mom’s collection, to see if he liked the feeling, but he scraped them off before anyone saw. He felt no closer to figuring it out, but he told himself that the undergarments should do some good. If not, he would have to accept the dead end he had reached.

Eren left the bathroom and joined his friends in a toast from Connie before the party started and people started to arrive. Even if he wasn’t sure who he was anymore, he forced himself to socialize with familiar faces. It made things less obvious than plastering himself against the wall and sipping on rum and Coke for the entire night, like he wanted to. Plus, if only for a little while, he could focus on others’ lives and not his own turmoil.

“Having fun?” Armin asked when he went up for a refill at the bar.

Eren slouched against the bar. There were a few people who had gotten too close, resulting in a falsely drunken swerve to stop their hands from touching his shoulder or back, but nothing out of the ordinary. Eren scared easily when something snuck up behind him, so the jumpy antics weren’t foreign to the friendly faces who knew him. “No amount of alcohol can get me to care about these people,” he groaned.

Annie was refilling her cocktail, her pack of cigarettes resting beside her glass, and she looked up at the declaration. “This party was dumb from the start,” she said.

“I get why we had it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Annie scoffed, taking a brief swig from the bottle before Armin chastised her, and patted his arm. Her fingers were inches from his shoulder, and he froze up beneath her. His reaction had to have been taken as a norm, because she didn’t say anything, or she simply didn’t notice. “If you want an escape, I’ll be out smoking and soaking my feet in the kiddle pool.”

“And hanging out with Spike,” Armin added.

“That’s a given,” Eren teased, gathering himself enough to speak without a tremor to his voice. Annie gestured towards him and glared at Armin, as if to emphasize how little he missed the point. “But if you’re gonna smoke shitsticks, I’ll pass.”

“They’re Newports, and they taste fine.”

“They taste bad and you know it!”

Annie flipped him off over her shoulder as she left. Eren smirked at Armin and earned an eyeroll for his trouble.

“I don’t get how you two can bother each other so much and still have time to like each other,” he sighed.

“It’s all for Mikasa,” Eren said and started to list off his plan on his fingers. “I fight Annie. She fights me. She wins, because she’s better than me. Mikasa sees it and is instantly impressed by a strong woman. They fall in love and accept the fact that they are absolutely perfect for each other.”

Armin chuckled at the explanation. His hair was pulled back this evening, as it was getting too long for the summer heat, but some strands still framed his face gracefully, brushed against his cheeks and jaw. “That last one sounds a little far-fetched. Mikasa’s oblivious to things like that.”

“Umm, were you not awake or alive for Jean’s Straight Phase?”

“I was, but that doesn’t count. Jean told her how pretty she was right to her face. She knew it from the start. What she didn’t know, until I told her, was that Reiner and Bert had a thing for each other.”

The point was made, and Armin definitely won that argument, but Eren refused to relent. “If, and when, it’s towards her, she’ll know it. She’s my sister. We would notice things like that.”

Armin didn’t comment on that, but Eren knew his best friend better than anyone. The glint in his eyes showed a contradiction to his words that wasn’t voiced. Eren almost thought on it, but he distracted himself with seemingly more important matters. He looked up and around the living room to view the party. Krista and Reiner, plus Bertholdt, were a few feet away and chatting; it would have been flirting, if not for Reiner’s jovial laugh bringing a deep flush of embarrassment to Krista’s face. Beyond them, Mikasa was chatting with her fellow volleyball teammates, keeping her occupied and, thankfully, away from him.

The most interesting thing that Eren found was Sasha and Connie. They had quit their jobs as bouncers and were pressed up close together in the walkway between the kitchen and living room. Sasha was whispering into his ear, leaned in close and personal, and Connie was giggling madly at whatever she was saying. Their hands clutched onto each other’s bodies as if it was a lifeline. Eren didn’t remember them declaring a dating status.

He pushed his cup across the bar counter for a refill and nodded to them. “What’s up with them?”

Armin looked over and almost instantly rolled his eyes. “They’ve been standing there for at least five minutes,” he said. “I think they’re flirting, but I don’t know how seriously.”

“Jeez. You would think they’d say something to each other after all these years.”

The glint returned but vanished once he became distracted with refilling the solo cup. “They’ll do it when they’re ready.”

“When, two years from now?”

“However long it takes.

Eren scoffed and took his cup back. “Yeah, okay. Connie’s not the brightest bulb, and Sasha psyches herself out. Explain that, Mister Salutatorian.”

Armin didn’t answer, either by choice or by circumstance as Reiner sidled up to the bar with a saunter and a Bertholdt to follow. “Hey buds,” he greeted the duo with a grin. “Thanks for not letting the bar explode without its main attraction.”

In one smooth motion, Armin shrugged off the hand that had landed on his shoulder. “Do you want it to stay that way?”

“Hey, since you mentioned it, that sounds like a good idea.”

“Why, so you two can suck faces?” Eren inquired with a smirk.

Bertholdt blushed, but Reiner only winked as his response.

“If you can get me some extra drinks and cups from the supplies in the kitchen, I’ll consider it,” Armin replied.

“Done deal!” Reiner hopped up and nudged Eren as he passed. “Wanna help us out, bud?”

“Sure.” He rubbed at the junction of his chest and shoulder, where one of the bra straps clung to his skin, hoping it was portrayed as casual. Reiner and Bertholdt hadn’t noticed anything, already walking between Sasha and Connie to get to the kitchen. But Armin, dealing with other partygoers, watched the trio leave out of the corner of his eye. Eren felt like his gaze was strong enough to look under his shirt and see the bra latched onto his body. As irrational as the thought might have been on any other day, in that moment it was hard to think of anything else.

Jean was standing in the kitchen, swaying lightly on his feet and sipping at a chilled bottle of beer. When the trio entered, he waved with a twiddle of his fingers and resumed his tipsy dance. It was definitely not his first drink, maybe his second or third, but he had always been a lightweight.

“Y’got something t’do?” Jean asked in a mumbled slur, partially from the alcohol in his system but also from the bottle that was blocking his mouth. At the very least, Sasha was more focused on Connie than her usual drinking partner, making him a little more bearable to converse with.

“You can come bother Annie with us,” Reiner offered, gathering the unopened bottles of various liquors to bring to Armin. Eren busied himself with the homemade beer cooler in the sink, filling it up with cups that Bert filled.

Jean thought about the offer for a second, but shook his head and took another sip of beer. He turned with the utmost care for the bowl of chips behind him, and he aimed his foot in Eren’s general direction, too drunk to aim properly. “Wha’bout you? Are you gonna bother the blonde menace?”

“Nah, I’ll probably help Armin with the bar,” he said, adding with an eyeroll, “followed up shortly by Mikasa herself.”

“Y’can hang with me.”

“Where’s Marco?” Bertholdt asked. “I thought he usually looks after you.”

“Pff.” Jean looked at the two of them like they were crazy. “I don’need anyone t’look affer me. I’m a motherfuckin’ fox.” Nevertheless, the mention of his best friend made him look around the kitchen and frown at the lack of Marco he found. “I dunno where he is, though.”

“He’s talking to some friends,” Reiner said, walking back into the room from his second trip to the bar. “He’s coming back, don’t worry.”

“I knowww, but he said we would hang out.”

“Aww, you miss him?” Eren teased, and laughed at the flushed response. “What are you gonna do next year, when you live on the other side of campus?”

Jean’s eyes shot up and he lunged forward, tripping over the carpet in front of the sink and dipping straight into Eren’s arms. He was caught in time, Eren straightening him up, but the concern didn’t leave the swirling in his eyes. “Dude, I don’ want you t’feel like I f’got you, b’cause I didn’t. We’re gonna be roomies next year, remember?”

“I remember, Jean, I know—” God, he was drunk. Eren silently thanked Reiner for quickly preparing a glass of water.

“Good, neither did I. I don’ wanna tell you later, but I’m, like, _so_ excited to room with you.” Jean emphasized his phrase by squeezing Eren’s elbows and burrowing his face into his neck. “So excited.”

While he was distracted, Bertholdt slipped the beer out of his hands, and Reiner replaced it with the water. Eren mouthed his gratitude to them and straightened Jean up so he could properly take a large gulp of water, surprisingly unfazed by the sudden change in drinks.

Eren heard Mikasa’s voice just behind him, and he prepared himself for the protectiveness that was in transit. There was a tiny hiccup in the middle of her statement to whoever she was talking to, just enough to relieve his worries; his sister didn’t always drink at parties like this unless they were staying the night. In addition to being a chilled-out drunk, she also forgot to check on him, like she had a habit of doing while sober. Eren was expecting a nudge in acknowledgement and soft, non-specific humming until she drifted off to babble at Armin instead. What he was _not_ expecting was the gentle hand to land on his shoulder, placed right over the strap of the bra that, ironically enough, belonged to her.

Jumping immediately, Eren spun around and slapped her hand away. The movement was sudden enough to startle both Mikasa and Jean, and Eren noticed Reiner staring in shock from behind Mikasa. Bertholdt was nowhere to be seen, probably delivering more supplies to Armin. But the lack in his audience made no difference to the realization of what he had done.

Eren had never hit Mikasa before. They fought like any other pair of siblings, and had been subject to numerous shoves, digs, and play-fighting over the years. When they joined their respective sports—Eren in football and Mikasa in volleyball—they often sparred with one another to test each other’s skills. But they had never hit one another with an intention to hurt and to force the other away. They mattered too much to each other to ever resort to physicality in that context. Until now.

The shock on Mikasa’s face fueled Eren in his sprint out of the kitchen and to the living room, Sasha and Connie still ogling each other intensely. He pushed through the crowd—passed someone that looked like Marco’s ex-boyfriend? That was concerning—and stumbled outside into the summer night. He collapsed on the front steps and curled close to the railing, gripping it with one hand. The other was busy digging into the skin right under the bra.

His shoulder seared from where Mikasa had placed her hand, but it wasn’t as painful as the recollection of what he had done. Her expression prodded at his heart, and the jolt of surprise from Jean beside him was just as revealing. If he had been more sober, maybe he would have criticized him for hitting his sister. He could see the smirk now, twisting and spilling teasing words, like “Wow, and you thought _I_ was a danger to her? Really, Jaeger?”

Or maybe Jean would have been equally stunned to react at first. It didn’t matter to Eren; regardless of what would have happened, it didn’t change anything. He had smacked his sister’s hand away, a miniscule detail in a tightly-sealed bigger picture that no one else knew about. He wasn’t yet ready to talk to Mikasa about his feelings on his gender, and he sure as hell was never going to mention the fact that he had stolen her bra and a clean pair of her underwear—the kind she bought once she was old enough to go into an adult store, the same kind she kept hidden in an old shoebox. The only reason why Eren, of all people, knew about it was because he was the one who had driven her to the mall. He had never had an intention to wear one until recently.

Mikasa deserved a better brother—a better _sibling_ —who didn’t hit her hand in dissatisfaction, a sibling who understood what their gender was and didn’t take it out on himself. Levi deserved a lover who was sure of what he was doing and was able to avoid digging his nails into flesh when he was too disgusted with himself to care about anything. College on the horizon would help straighten his head out, but Eren was sure that he should have been in the know by now. Everyone in his friend group—all ten of them, eleven counting Mikasa—with Armin at the top of the list—needed to have a friend who didn’t crumble at the thought of being anything other than the gender assigned to him at birth.

And it wasn’t like there would be disapproval. His parents might take a while to get used to it, but they loved both of their children unconditionally and would do anything for their happiness. His friend group had had many conversations involving human rights and the treatment of individuals different from themselves, so the topic was familiar to them. And again, they knew someone who didn’t conform to regular gender identities: Hanji teased them with their gender, and Nanaba’s haircut was often a topic to ogle and praise. In their age group, their friend Boris had started testosterone therapy earlier in the year. Eren knew he would have support if he talked to anyone about how he felt. The problem was admitting it to himself, to look in the mirror and confirm that he was not as male as he thought he was. All those years of football, and he still felt lost.

Eren silenced his thoughts when he realized that the party had supplies for these conditions. If he wanted to forget his troubles, he could easily do that. He would probably sober up immediately if someone even looked at him funny, and if he stayed next to Armin, he would be even safer. And maybe, in the event that he found enough courage within the contents of his drink, his worries would just billow out. Armin was probably going to figure it out on his own, if he hadn’t already, and Eren trusted his best friend more than he could trust himself.

Walking back into the party, Eren noticed a few different things. Sasha and Connie were nowhere to be seen, probably off to seal their relationship; the only familiar faces he wanted to see were Armin and Marco, the latter rather panicked and talking in a rushed mixture of Spanish and English. Each word was more fueled with a tint of his Puerto Rican accent, a sign that he was slightly intoxicated, but the slip of the lisp he always suppressed bled into his words and revealed how anxious he was. Eren heard some of what Marco was saying, but it was too quick and muddled together with English to fully comprehend.

Armin caught sight of Eren and waved him over, gently pushing a half-empty glass of water to Marco. When Eren arrived at the bar, he was practically tugged over the edge by the blond leaning over to pull on his sleeve and whisper in his ear. “Where have you been?” He asked quietly. Marco nibbled on his thumb nail and shifted in place uneasily. “Mikasa’s looking for you, and Jean ran out on Marco.”

“No, don’t tell him,” Marco pleaded. He tugged on Armin’s arm as if needing the attention. “I don’t want him to hate Jean!”

“I won’t hate him, I promise,” Eren stated. It was a rare moment for him when he was one of the only sober ones of his friend, but he had handled Marco’s radical drunken emotions more than enough times to know how to talk with him. “What happened? Why did he run?”

“We were talking, and then, we were, um, doing things? A-and I thought we were gonna go downstairs but he got distracted by my mouth and then we were doing more things, and then he just ran away?” Marco bit his lip and bowed his head, staring down at his hands. “I don’t really remember.”

“He’s probably still here,” Armin pointed out. “He wouldn’t leave like that, right, Eren?”

The piercing blue eyes that demanded he answer in agreement weren’t needed to play along. Eren would go so far as to say it was unnecessary, but everything about Armin was important.

“Maybe he went out to catch some air,” he suggested. Knowing better than to directly ask what had happened, but still curious, he snuck in, “Were you guys doing something that required you to not breathe?”

Armin glowered at the innuendo, though Marco seemed unfazed by it and shrugged thoughtfully; “Yeah, I guess we were. Maybe he did go catch some air.”

“He’ll be back soon,” the blond assured. He pulled Marco down into a hug, and the taller wrapped his arms tightly around him. “How about you go find some pretzels to munch on, and I’ll text you when he comes back, okay?”

Marco nodded, smiling sweetly at the suggestion, and then he turned to Eren. “Do you wanna come sit and wait with me?”

“I think I saw Hitch walk in that general direction.” Eren turned to look at Armin, who had supplied the answer for him without asking. He only glanced at the other boy for a second, a gaze that told him just how worried he was and how much he wanted to say in private. A chill ran down his spine. “Eren will join you in a second.”

“Okay. I missed Hitch.”

“I know you did. I think she missed you too.”

Marco gave a soft nod, mumbling something under his breath in incoherent Spanish, and then disappeared into the crowd. Eren watched him leave, partly in concern but a larger part of him wanting a distraction from the conversation that was waiting to start behind him.

“Have you seen Mikasa at all tonight?”

Eren, ignoring the question, reached for the bottle of rum on the bar. When his fingers closed around the neck, Armin’s hand followed. He was not going to go ignored, which made complying to his wishes his only option. “For a few seconds, yeah.”

Armin barely reacted, though he moved his hand away, and leaned forward. “She said she tried to talk to you, but you hit her hand before she could say anything.”

“Maybe I did.” Eren felt as prepared to talk about his problem as he did before. He was not going to be able to tell his best friend or anyone else what was going on. “Why does it matter?”

“Because she knows it was involuntary and she wanted to ask if I knew anything. And we both have seen how you’ve been acting lately.” _Shit._ “Eren, if something’s going on that we don’t know about,” Armin reached over to remove his grip from the rum and hold his hand between his, “you can tell us, you know. We’re here for you.”

Armin’s hands were slightly chilled from handling iced bottles and chilled cups, but the warmth that always seemed to billow out from him in waves was working in tandem with a careful smile and reassuring gestures. If he kept it up, Eren could practically see himself confessing everything to him.

“You don’t even have to tell me anything. You can just let me know you’re okay, or working things out.” God damn, how could he avoid eyes like that? Caribbean blue irises as deep and mystical as the depths of the Pacific, with the threat of not knowing what was hidden at the very bottom—the only way to avoid them was to not look. But Eren found himself doing that and nothing else; it wasn’t worth fighting the tide. “Just saying something would be enough for me.”

“Uhm.” Shit, he had to form words. Eren shifted on his feet and tried to remember how speaking worked. “Well, I’m fine, I think. But I still gotta think some things through.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Sorta?” Armin was trusted. Forbidden blue dragged him in, over his head, and kept him captive. His thoughts, thankfully, were able to stop him from revealing too much. Maybe a slight reveal would do some good. “It’s just hard, you know? I leave for college in three months, and I feel like I should be more prepared than I am.”

It wasn’t a complete lie; the thought of college was terrifying to him. But the reasons were a bit more than just simple teenage terror. He was moving out of state, for four months, for a major he hadn’t decided on, and he wanted to know where he stood on a spectrum of gender. It _had_ to be something. There had to be an answer.

“We’re all feeling that,” Armin said. Eren knew there was no way anyone else could be feeling the same as him. “How do you think everyone else feels?”

“You and Mikasa are staying local, because you were smart enough to get in.”

“But we’re still terrified. My grandpa is all I know. And Mikasa isn’t prepared to be separated from you, even though you don’t like to hear that.” Eren couldn’t help but flinch; Armin chuckled, but stifled it with a reassuring smile. “And you have people who are familiar enough for you to be around without any worries.”

Armin had a point, even if it didn’t touch all of his concerns. Eren was going to school, four hours away, with four people he could trust to help him stay safe and sane. Jean was his roommate, Bert was across the hall, and Reiner and Marco were within walking distance. Remembering that they were going to be with him was already helping ease his frayed nerves. But it still came with a price: Levi was not on that list.

And Eren was relieved at that.

“There’s something else I wanna talk about,” he stated suddenly, “but it’s too, uhm…”

“Private?”

“That’s a word.” He scoffed at himself for getting so lost in thought, but he couldn’t help it. On one hand, Levi was someone with importance in his life, a snarky bastard with an attitude as tall as the Empire State Building. Two years older, his first year of college was Eren’s junior year of high school. They put their relationship on hold: Levi didn’t believe in long-distance relationships, seeing no use in them, and Eren wanted his experiences in school to not be based around his boyfriend in Michigan.

_“You promise you’ll come back to me?”_

_“Of course, brat. I’m not leaving forever.”_

_“I know, but…it’s gonna be a while until we’ll see each other.”_

_“Mm. It will be. But we can manage.”_

_“And then it’s gonna be two years until we can really date again.”_

_“Try not to think about that, okay? It’ll only make things worse. Plus, you’re insufferable when you have a headache.”_

Now that he was heading towards college, the possibility of starting a relationship with Levi was daunting. Eren couldn’t see the point in it, and the spark he had gotten when they first started dating had vanished. Perhaps distance had changed them, but even hanging around each other after his graduation ceremony left him feeling empty and lost. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. And to add his gender dysphoria to it only made it all the more terrifying. In Eren’s eyes, it was a relationship-ender, for sure.

“Do you want to step away for a bit?” Armin asked, breaking him out of his trance. Eren blinked a few times to regain his bearings, but still nodded.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Eren glanced over his shoulder, noticing that the crowd was mostly contained to the living room and had stayed out of the hallway. “We can try down the hall, or outside.”

“I think Reiner and Bert are back there, so—”

“So unless we wanna see two giant nerds make out, we should stay inside.”

Armin simply smiled at the accusation, enough of an answer on its own, but he took Eren’s hand and gently pulled him away from the bar. They passed by Boris, and the blond asked if he could help with drinks for a bit. With a nod, Eren was once again led down the hall. The music and chatter behind him slowly lessened—making room for very obvious moans from behind Connie's door—and they took a seat on the steps that led to the second floor of the split-level. Thankfully, no one was allowed back there, due to the location of the other Springers’ bedrooms, but Eren was sure they had permission.

“Is this secluded enough?” Armin wondered. The nervous tone to his voice was easy to pick out. “I know it’s not very quiet, but at least no one is back here.”

“I think we’ll be safe,” Eren assured him. At the last second, he pressed his wrist against his stomach, to hide the self-made markings from the piercing blue eyes beside him. If he could help it, he wasn’t going to talk about anything deeper than his relationship with Levi. “I won’t try to take long, so that you can get back to the bar.”

“Take as long as you need. I have time. Boris will understand.”

That last statement was true, in more ways than one, but that was unnecessary information. Eren gathered his thoughts with a single breath, watching Armin’s hands linger in his lap, and then began; “It’s Levi—and me, but also Levi, in a way, because, I don’t know, we separated when he went to college, and that’s fine, but now that we can date again, I don’t… _feel_ anything when I’m around him, y’know? Like, okay, when we were hanging out after graduation, and we were holding hands, it didn’t feel important to me. I should have had a moment, like ‘holy shit, we’re gonna be together again,’ but nothing happened. And he didn’t say anything, and I didn’t say anything, and it just felt _weird_ —”

“Eren, take a breath.” Armin, concerned, gently pressed a hand against his back, right above the bra and in between the straps. The action only made him more anxious.

“I don’t think we’re gonna date anymore, and I should be sad about that, but I’m so relieved, and I don’t know why! I should be sad, right? Why can’t I be sad about it?! What’s _wrong_ with me?!”

Armin tugged him to his chest and held him there, arms enveloped around his shoulders. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and Eren would have pulled away, but the soft scent off of his sweater and the warmth from his body was all too inviting to resist. A few deep breaths and his erratic breathing—when had it sped up?—resumed a normal pace, but he refused to move away. The rhythm of Armin’s heart in his chest was a melody that Eren hadn’t realized he needed.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, hoping Armin could hear him, “that I may be broken.”

The blond ran a gentle hand through his hair. When Eren hummed at the motion, Armin hesitated, but continued onward. “You’re not broken.”

“But I _am_ , though.” Eren pulled back to look at him, the Caribbean blue he so admired shining with wonder and patience. “In more ways than I can say.” His hands gripped small shoulders, and Armin glanced over at his wrist. If he noticed anything, he said nothing. “Losing love for Levi is just one of them. I thought I had it figured out, but I don’t.”

“That’s why we have college.” The smile, this time, was bittersweet, but its mere presence was soothing for him. “It’s sorta built to help us figure life out.”

“What if I don’t? Or what if Levi isn’t part of it romantically?”

“You don’t know anything for sure until the moment comes. College starts in three months. Maybe some of us will figure things out before then, but it takes time. Everyone will find their passion, or their partner, at their own pace.”

Armin was right, of course, but Eren kept the thought to himself; it didn’t need to be said. The moment between them was tender, as it always was, and a wave of thanks overcame him. But he still kept quiet. He was hit with an epiphany of his own, one that he had not expected to come to the forefront of his thoughts, one that startled him into questioning everything he knew.

He and Armin had been friends since eighth grade, when they met in the same class and were the only new kids around. Being neighbors also helped, and the fact that both were familiar with the city of Chicago, and their friendship bloomed. When social pressures threatened Armin, Eren was around to help; when school heightened its workload on Eren, Armin knew how to help. Their friendship wavered at times, but they sealed it with autumn walks around the block, the Jaegers’ dog Lola pulling them along, or de-stress movie nights complete with recipes for Carla Jaeger’s horchata and Grandpa Arlert’s chocolate chip cookies. Their worlds revolved around each other. Eren had never thought of them as anything else beyond best friends. But the possibility of being beyond was suddenly enticing, abruptly intrusive, and shattering the ground beneath him.

Eren hid his face in Armin’s sweater to hide his embarrassed laughter. “This is so dumb.” Armin tried to peer down at him, but it only caused him to delve further into the embrace. “You’re totally right and you don’t even know how this feels.”

It wasn’t a slight against Armin, but a simple fact: he was rather private about who he had been with. He hadn’t been with anyone in a long-term relationship, though there was speculation that he and Jean had been together briefly, and Connie and Annie always made jokes about hooking up with him that sounded a bit too specific.

Thankfully, Armin didn’t take his comment seriously and only hummed in response. But something still seemed off. Eren pushed himself into a sitting position, noticing how Armin’s hands lingered around his waist now, and tried to look into his mind. With eyes like that in front of him, there had to be something. “Unless you have and I just don’t know?”

That gave him a reaction, one with wide eyes and nervous shuffling. Armin could only keep up a poker face for so long; once it was cracked, the secret would be revealed in a matter of seconds. “There isn’t anyone.”

“Come on, Min, there has to be! Can you not tell me or something?”

“Yes.”

“Armin!”

“This isn’t about me, Eren! I thought we came back here so _you_ could vent.”

Eren huffed, tempted to pull away and pout against the railing, but that would mean leaving Armin’s arms, which was too intimate of a position. Even if it meant he had little room to move, he liked the feeling of Armin’s fingers on his hips, of his eyes glancing over him, of every tender blink and the soft tilt of his head that swayed the strands of blond that had escaped from the hair tie. He would need a haircut soon, but it was still perfect, equally as magnificent as Armin himself, though not able to match the pools of Caribbean seas or the radiated warmth from his core—

And Eren understood what it all meant.

“So if we’re here for me,” he started, waiting for Armin’s eyes to return back to him before continuing, “then that one person should still be relevant. Right?”

It was a wild chance, but it was based off of a seemingly infinite amount of things that he had once seen as a simple part of their friendship. They snuggled under blankets without question, and they were prone to delivering forehead kisses during times of great stress. There had been times where Armin’s actions—a lingering gaze, a dazed look when he and Levi were together, shy smiles when their hands brushed or their knees knocked together—were simple coincidences, but they now rang truth in Eren’s head. He had passed it off as something that best friends did; after all, Marco and Jean were best friends, and they were affectionate in similar ways. Romance didn’t always have to be the outcome.

Armin gulped quietly and bowed his head, almost in shame. Eren would have cheered in victory if he hadn’t been so wound up. “Please don’t think badly of me,” he whispered.

Eren took it as his answer and pressed some more. “How long have you…” The words were suddenly lost to him. Armin’s always liked him, and the L-word was a frightening, out-of-reach word lingering around them.

Thankfully, his point was understood. “Around the start of November. I promise, Eren, it wasn’t supposed to happen.” Armin’s words spilled out from his mouth in a rushed wave of stuttered nonsense, his hands flying wildly in front of him. “I-I tried to stop, but that only made me think of you more, and I thought being with someone else would help, but then everything just spiraled—”

“Whoa, hey.” Eren scooted closer so that his knees were between his, and he smiled in what he hoped was reassurance. “Take a breath, Armin. I’m not upset.”

“But you…aren’t you—” Armin cleared his throat. “I thought you and Levi were going to date again.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? I don’t love Levi anymore.”

“Eren, just a couple weeks ago, you were talking about how excited you were to see him again.”

“Because I was, but it’s different in person!”

“Don’t get my hopes up.” Armin gripped his hands tightly, eyes shut. “I’ve crushed them a thousand times already. I don’t think I can take it again.”

Eren wished he could take the words, remove the feeling that came with them, and trash them far away from the boy in front of him. If anyone was undeserving of such negativity, it was Armin. And yet it was all his fault. Of course it was. But perhaps there was a way to make up for it, at least for a little while.

“Why can’t we try it?”

Blue eyes glanced at him in confusion. “Try what? Dating?”

“No, like…” His face heated up at the image that popped into his head. God, there was a time and place for lewd thoughts. “Kissing. Or something.”

The bewildered gaze stayed on him, only growing in intensity. “What are you talking about?”

Eren, not sure of any other way to put it, leaned over and pecked Armin’s nose. The blond reeled back, breaking their embrace, with a flush and a sputtering of words. “Like that. But with our lips.”

Armin scooted to the wall behind him and stretched out his legs on the stair, putting distance between them that felt like an ocean. “Stop joking around, Eren. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not playing around!” He would have gotten closer, but with the panic radiating beside him, he took the hint for once and kept to his side of the stair. “Why would you think that?!”

“There’s no way that, suddenly, out of the blue, you don’t like Levi, and you just so happen to like me. That’s not how this works!”

“That’s not what I was saying!” When had they gotten to yelling? Weren’t they just in each other’s arms? “How do you know I haven’t been sure of Levi for a while?”

Armin’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Since spring break, you’ve counted down the days to graduation so you can start dating again. For the past two years, you’ve woefully waited for the day where you graduate high school so you can be together ‘for real.’ _And_ , the icing on the cake, you two could barely step away from each other after the graduation ceremony.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.” Triumph rose in his throat and threatened to turn his words into brags. “It just sounds like you’re jealous of Levi.”

The retort made Armin’s face light up red, this time in anger. “You know that’s not true. Don’t try to turn this on me. I’ve always supported your relationship.”

“Then prove it!” There was no way he would be able to resist the bait. “Prove that you’re not jealous of Levi.”

It was a ridiculous proposal, and Armin was surely gathering a response to it, but he only sighed and sagged against the wall. “Okay, Eren. How should I prove that I’m not jealous of Levi?”

“Like this.” Eren crawled over his legs and situated himself in Armin’s lap. The hands that had previously held his hips instantly grabbed the railing above him, alarm flashing on soft features. “You have me right here, in front of you, but you’re not allowed to touch me.”

“Oh come on.” Armin’s voice trembled, but he rolled his eyes and made no move to push him away. Eren brushed his fingers against his jaw, teasing, but the blond didn’t give in. “How is that supposed to prove—”

He pushed the collar of his dress shirt down, eyeing the pale neck in front of him. “I bet you won’t win.”

Another temptation of Armin, Eren knew, was competition. As sweet and kind as he could be, there was an urge to win hidden underneath that was released anytime it was revealed. Right on schedule, Armin’s expression hardened into a stoic facade that would have made Annie proud. “Fine. You better get to work, then, so I can prove you wrong.”

 _Shit._ Eren hurriedly ducked forward and attached his lips to Armin’s neck, enough to keep a mark simultaneously hidden and visible to the observant eye. The muscles beneath his lips became taut with tension, and Eren could feel the rushing pulse. Armin’s neck, pale and creamy, was inviting him to mark with bites and suckles. And he was never one to back down.

At the first touch of teeth dragging across his skin, Armin’s hips lurched forward as a gasp was wretched from his lips. It was the loudest he got, hot puffs of air panting and blowing onto brown tufts of hair, though he might not have been holding them back; it wasn’t part of his usual habit to be loud. Eren listened to each breath uttered above him, admiring the tremble and priding himself in being able to bring out such a reaction. He pulled his teeth back and suckled on the spot, and he chuckled at the lunge that followed. He sat up to admire his handiwork and noticed how one of Armin’s hands had decided to untie his hair and grip the blond strands instead of the railing. An interesting turn of events.

“Having fun, Min?” He teased. Blue eyes glared at him in a layer of lust, and his hands dropped into his lap.

“As much as you are,” he shot back. Armin was breathless, but his time around Eren had made him stubborn. He wasn’t going to lose.

Eren returned to the bruising spot on the alabaster neck, but he trailed down further to nibble and lick at every piece of skin he could reach. Armin panted quietly, hands curling into his sweater or over his knees, but his hands stayed put. At the very least, he sounded like he had just come back from running the mile in high school, which was a feat both surprising and celebratory. Eren continued to his first spot, making sure to nip at his past marks. He liked to think that he was milking out each twitch of his legs or hand, each gasp and cry, every thrust of his hips that had a suspicious bulge in the front—

“Time’s up.”

Before he could respond, Eren found himself flying back and hitting the banister. He blinked up at the weight that settled on his thighs, much as he had done. Armin smiled breathlessly, half of his neck moist and showing off a purple mark, eyes shining deep and dark. His response was hardly coherent in his head before he was kissing Armin, lips soft and plush against his. A spark ran down his spine, and Eren wrapped his arms around him, shutting his eyes and indulging himself.

This was how it was supposed to feel. His heart tripping over itself in his chest, his hands roving along every centimeter that was available to him, his mouth fitting perfectly with the one above him: it was right. It was a sensation, an explosion of fireworks inside his gut, a searing at every contact of bare skin. Levi had delivered the same intensity, once upon a time, but there was something severely different about the two. Previously, it had been a slinking movement, like a cat walking in the dead of night and never staying in one place. This, right now, was a current that centered into his gut, for what he hoped was permanently, and surged throughout his body.

Armin pulled apart for air first, and Eren missed the contact between them. He leaned forward for a few more tastes, spare pecks and promises to return. When they made eye contact, they broke into laughter, mirroring the look of relief they shot at one another.

“I didn’t know there was a time limit,” Eren breathed out. He couldn’t help but nuzzle into the unmarked side of Armin’s neck, humming softly at the hand running through his hair.

“I got impatient,” he said in an amused chuckle. “But I still won.”

“You were the one who tackled me, so did you really win?”

“Hmm. Maybe I need to convince you.”

Eren tightened his grip so that their chests touched, one hand digging into his back and the other roaming up to dig into blond. “I think you should.”

Again and again, their mouths came together, tongues dancing, lips smacking, hands digging into hair and tugging at the sensations. Eventually, the sitting position became annoying, and they slid off the step to gather at the bottom of the stairs. Armin cupped his hands at the small of Eren’s back and held him on top of him, eyes shut as Eren peppered his jaw with kisses. He admired the hickey for a brief second, kissing it tenderly, and then returned to Armin’s lips when a whine and poke reminded him of said impatience.

Anything beyond Armin fell on deaf ears. Their friend group could have been around, and Eren wouldn’t have noticed. The party, his anxiety over gender, his concern for his future with Levi: it flew out at a single touch of tender hands, always covered in ink from writing and delivering a comforting warmth that surrounded his chest and clutched his heart. Their legs scrambled against the hardwood floor, but they fit together quite nicely, knees knocked together and hands brushing through hair.

It took Eren a moment to realize that Armin wasn’t bending his head back to give him more access to his neck, but he was actually trying to get his attention. He looked up at the blond, admiration oozing from seemingly every part of his body. There was so much he held for the boy beneath him, he was positive he was unable to hold it.

“Eren…what’s this?”

It took another moment for Eren to realize that the “this” in particular was a silky fabric hooked behind his back, holding up nothing but the possibility to figure out who, and what, he was. In his rush to kiss Armin until they were dizzy, he had forgotten all about his secret. He had been careless, and stupid, and there was no going back, and Armin hated him. That look in his eyes—the astonishment, the confusion, the wonder—was all a start before the wave of hatred knocked him over.

Armin was pulling his shirt up and revealing the sky blue bra before he could be stopped. Eren tried to scramble after his hands, but once the undergarment was revealed, he was frozen. Anything beyond Armin was silence for him, but not for a reason he preferred. Even the words crinkled in his throat, choked by tears and the thought that he had just lost his best friend. Nothing was said. Nothing was done. There was only staring, which was just as loud as any angry tirade. It felt like years since noise had been said. The return of sound brought everything back into focus.

“Eren, y—”

Eren stumbled to his feet and ran out. He was unable to listen to what else Armin had to say, willing his feet to move and not go back. Remembering to pull his shirt down, he struggled with the fabric and bumped into someone in his hurry to escape. Annie looked up at him, surprised and just as shaken as he was, for a reason equal to his own. He knew that look she shot him, because he felt it shroud over his entire body.

“Eren!”

And there was the reason. Eren ducked into the room—the bird room, judging by the large cage in the corner—and shut the door. Mikasa stood in front of him, her face shaming the red of her scarf in color, mouth open like she had more to say. Seeing her was enough. The guilt rammed up his throat and out in a rushing wave of wind.

“Mikasa, I’m sorry, I stole your nice bra and underwear and I’ve been wearing them all night,” he admitted. The water that had clogged his words before was suddenly present down his cheeks. He didn’t wait for his sister’s reaction; she needed to hear everything. She was the eye of a hurricane that pummeled around him, armed with every anxiety and worry he could think of, the calm of his chaos. “I don’t know what I am anymore. I thought I was a boy, but sometimes, I don’t _feel_ like one, and sometimes I don’t feel like _anything_ . I just feel miserable, and sad, a-and I thought wearing your clothes would help, but it _didn’t_ , it only made it worse, and now I feel like my world is falling apart.”

“Eren—”

He ignored her for now. He had to continue. “I’m sorry for hitting you earlier. I didn’t want you to find out about the bra, because I knew you’d get mad, but I didn’t want to hurt you either, so _please_ forgive me!” Mikasa didn’t interrupt him—she gaped at him, eyes like thunder clouds—and he continued with little break. “I don’t want to date Levi anymore, because I feel nothing for him, but I feel _everything_ for Armin, but I think I just fucked that up because we were making out and he found the bra, and I know that we’re all chill with breaking gender norms, but we never talk about if one of us is genderqueer!

“I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’m supposed to do, and I can’t even tell if I’m supposed to be here, and when I say ‘here’, I’m talking about this planet, because what type of person doesn’t even understand who they are? I might as well not even be human, because I’m eighteen and I know _nothing_ about the world around me, and yet I should know what to do with my life, and where I’m going, and who I am, and who I love, and I can’t take it!” Eren collapsed into her arms, his legs giving out beneath him, and she caught him with a small hiccup. His sobs rang in his ears, so he stuffed his face into her shirt. “I can’t take it.”

Mikasa quietly guided him to the couch so that she could properly hug him. Her arms were a sanctuary he always forgot about, a sure source of protection and comfort. She had been through so much as a child, hopping from foster homes and the orphanage since the age of five, in a city too large for her to fully comprehend. When Eren, lonely and longing after a fifth family move, found her roaming the streets of Chicago, it was a match they had been waiting for. Mikasa was there for him, and Eren was there for her. It was the one, and currently only, thing he was sure of.

Eren knew the routine when one of them was brought to tears from the culmination of stress that had built up above them: wait for the well to dry, rub their back, and start talking. On time, once he was able to breathe without a stutter, Mikasa’s cool hands ran down his—their?—back.

“Can I call you Eren?” She whispered. He nodded solemnly. “Eren. How long have you felt like this?”

With a sniffle, he sat up and curled next to her, still locked between her arms. He held her in his own embrace. “I dunno. Maybe a while. The gender stuff might have started in freshman year. I thought football would help stop it, and it sorta did, but it came back once it ended.”

Mikasa frowned; one hand raised up to pet his hair, like his mother would do, but she dropped it. “Does any of this involve Mom?”

Eren hadn’t thought of her being part of it, but her absence could have affected the mayhem within his life. Her life as an artist was not an easy one; when she wasn’t teaching kids after school, she was traveling for commissions and inspiration. Both cost time away from her kids, and they were in the longest stretch without her. She had been gone since April and was unable to fly back for a small visit, making her miss their graduation. “I guess I miss her, but not more than usually.”

“And Dad isn’t—” she hiccuped, “—the best person to talk to about this stuff. You usually go to him after you talk with Mom.”

“I know. But I can’t do that, because of time zones and her job. We always miss each other.”

Mikasa knew the feeling well, so it wasn’t elaborated further. She was probably going through what he had said in her head, considering which piece to address next. “You know your happiness is important to me. I don’t care what you identify as.”

“I know.”

“Can I ask why you were afraid then?”

Eren shrugged and toyed with a stray strand from the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know. There are people who accept others but can’t accept their family members being different. I guess I thought you would react the same—which is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Mikasa pulled back to look at him. “Hanji told me something similar once. Even though they were sure that no one would judge, the anxiety of not knowing what their gender was stopped them from saying anything to anyone. It just happens. And it’s okay.”

“But it’s not okay.”

“It is for me.” Eren wrapped his arms around her, tightly, and she returned it with as much vigor. “Those things happen. The best I can do is help you find the right kind of help and support you through it all.”

“Even though I stole your clothes?”

The smile was heard in her voice. “Even though you stole my clothes. Which pair did you take?”

“The periwinkle set.”

“Hmm. Nice choice.”

“Thanks. It looks good on me.”

“I trust you.” Mikasa paused in thought, her hand twirling patterns on his back. Having her fingers hover so close to the bra kept the storm of his head, if only because it was her. “As for Levi…” Eren stiffened against her, and Mikasa said no more. She knew to let him speak before going further.

“I thought it would feel the same as before,” he said. “But after graduation, it didn’t feel special anymore. It can’t be from time, because we were fine last summer. I don’t know what’s so different about now.” He looked up to gauge her reaction, and he followed her gaze to his wrist, specifically the scarred one. He flipped his hand over, and she patted the top of it reassuringly. “I think I psyched myself out. About a lot of things, but especially with Levi.”

Mikasa hummed quietly to herself. He knew how much she had disliked their dating, but she had always stayed supportive and respectful when Levi was around. He could only assume she was picking her words carefully, out of habit or to avoid hurting him. “I think you should talk to Levi about it when you’re ready. Maybe in a couple days, you can bring it up and see what he says.”

“Maybe.” The thought scared him—and Mikasa knew, judging by the squeeze she gave his hand and the peck against his head—but it would have to happen. When he was ready, in his own time, he would talk with Levi. For now, it was best to get his head back on the right track. “Or I can become a hermit.”

Mikasa laughed at that as the door opened; the siblings turned to see Sasha gazing in and instantly frowning. Her eyes swept over them, and her sullen mood brightened up considerably. “Hi, guys, have you seen Marco?” She asked, her tone frantic, like she was in a hurry. “Jean and I are looking for him.”

“I haven’t seen him for a while,” Eren admitted. Mikasa shook her head as a response. “Sorry, Sash.”

Sasha’s mood changed immediately back to the severity from before and shut the door without another word.

Eren waited a beat before looking back at his sister. “I think she and Connie had sex.”

“What makes you say that?” Mikasa asked, a smile pulling at her lips.

"I'm pretty sure I heard them going at it earlier.”

“I think something else is going on. But we won’t know for sure.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Eren stretched out his legs, watching his sister stand and do the same. “Can I ask why Annie ran out of here?”

Mikasa was quick to respond and sharp to answer. “No.”

“Aww, man.” He nudged her with his elbow as they stood to leave. The party was sure to be cooling down, so it was best to help clean up before everyone passed out in the living room. Besides, only their friend group was staying over, and Eren knew it was mentally time to prepare himself for what would await him with Armin.

The door was barely opened before Cheryl was flying across the room and through the sliver of freedom. She landed on the ground in front of them, fluffing her wings and strutting around, and then took off into the living room. Below her, Connie and Sasha were having a heated discussion, and Ymir was on top of Jean, who was covering his face and trying to kick her weight off of him. There were a few people left, mostly egging on Ymir, but Marco was trying to kick them out and pull her off of Jean. Somehow, the commotion with their friends would have to wait.

“How did she get out?!” Eren nearly shrieked, his heart hammering in his chest as Cheryl flapped closer to the door.

“We forgot to close the cage,” she mumbled.

“Who’s we?! I didn’t do anything!”

From below them, Prince Harry waddled forward and watched his sister’s rampant movements with a tilt of his head and a series of “oh”s each time she came close to them. Before he could take off and join her, however, Krista was picking him up and firmly holding him, silencing the fear within the siblings.

“You get Cheryl,” she ordered. “I’ll watch him.” Her voice was tired yet firm, uncharacteristic of her but a conversation for later.

It was hard to admit how long it took both Eren and Mikasa to catch Cheryl and stop her from leaving the house. By that time, the party had stopped, but so much was already happening in the living room that it was near impossible to track. At the end of the day, it didn’t compare to Reiner’s lecture and searing of their behavior like a disappointed parent. Even the words not aimed for him stung at Eren. By the time it was over, he barely had it in him to protest the duty of helping Jean—a black eye and a bloody nose weren’t exactly fun to take care of, but he knew basic first aid and could help him out. So he silenced his biting words and pulled the taller into the bathroom.

Eren sat Jean on the edge of the tub and pointed to the one clean solo cup they had found. “Sit up straight and lean forward,” he instructed. “If you taste blood, spit it in the cup.”

Jean only nodded and did as told. Whatever fight that had occurred between him and Ymir must have been catastrophic enough to silence him from using his own retorts.

“Now, keep your nostrils shut and breathe through your mouth. It’ll help stop the bleeding.” He pulled out his phone to set up a timer for ten minutes.

“What’s that for?” Jean asked, doing as he was told. He sounded hoarse and weak, the equivalent of his appearance.

“For the ice pack.”

“I don’t need one—ow.”

Eren snickered at the wince he got from touching the tip of his nose. “Yeah, you do. It’ll help stop the swelling.”

With a knock on the door, Mikasa walked in and handed her brother the ice pack, wrapped in a clean washcloth. Eren gave it to Jean and helped him place it so that it was pressing against both his eye and his nose. Thankfully, there was nothing broken, judging by the lack of blood in his eye and the structure of his nose. Ymir had a tough punch, but not enough to break bone.

Mikasa still stood in the doorway, eyes darting between Eren as he set the timer and Jean taking great care in following the orders. “How are you?”

“I’m great, thanks, nurse Kasa,” Jean answered. Mikasa smiled at him and sat beside him to hold the ice pack on his face.

“Eren?”

“I’m fine,” he answered. He kept his eyes on his phone and nothing else. “Can’t you tell?”

“You’re not fine. You haven’t said a word since Reiner talked to you.”

“You should call him Doctor Jaeger,” Jean said pointedly. “And Momner was just doing his job.”

“Shut up, Jean. After all the shit that happened, I can’t believe you’re still drunk.”

“Sorry.” He frowned, glaring at his nose, and sighed longingly. “I tried not to be. Marco needed me.” Saying his name reminded him of something, and his eyes flickered between the siblings. “Did you see where Marco went?”

“He went downstairs to rest,” Mikasa answered softly. “He’s very tired.”

“What about Ymir?”

“She’s getting the bed ready for you. She’s giving you an extra pillow so that your nose doesn’t start bleeding in the middle of the night.”

“That’s nice of her.” Neither Eren nor Mikasa mentioned that she was the one who delivered his injuries in the first place. “I hope she knows I didn’t hurt Marshmallow. It was all that other jerk’s fault.”

“We know.” Mikasa pushed his hair away from his forehead. “I saw him earlier too. He shouldn’t have been here.”

“I hope…” Jean took a long moment for a breath before continuing, “that he never goes near Morocco again.”

A small smile rose on Mikasa’s lips. It was strange to see her acting so formal with someone who had ogled her for years. They might have been friendly in recent days, but that didn’t mean Eren had to get used to it. He still thought they were a bad match. “I don’t think he will.”

“You don’t have to be here,” Eren pointed out to her. “I can watch him on my own.”

“I’m here for you,” she shot back without looking at him. She opened the bottom cabinet for a packet of wipes and pulled one out. Moving the ice pack away momentarily, she gave it to Jean and showed him where to clean off the dried speckles of scarlet under his nose.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Stop telling me that, and stop telling yourself that. We both know that’s not true.”

“Don’t use that shit against me.” Jean, grimacing at the wipe, handed it to Eren, who threw it in the trash behind him. “Keep on holding and don’t sniffle.”

“Eren, what happened with Armin was bad, and I’m sure once he’s sober, he’ll agree with that, but you have to remember what Reiner said.”

“That I should have told everyone about my problems before figuring them out myself?”

“You can’t let yourself succumb to whatever issues you’re working through. The only one who’s able to help you is you. That’s how you get the help you actually need.”

“Doctor Jaeger,” Jean spoke up, pointing at Eren’s wrist, “why does that arm have ladders on it and the other arm doesn’t?”

Eren looked between both of them, one sincere and genuine and the other drunk and harmless, and he was tired of it. As different as they were, both in personality and in relation, they were the only ones who had an ear turned towards him. Out in the living room, Jean had defended him just as quickly as Mikasa had, whether by drunken nature or in mutual understanding. In a household full of friends, he felt himself relying on two.

“I’m tired,” he sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

Eventually, he returned to the panicked state he had found himself in. Even when he shut his eyes and tried to sleep, his mind was a hurricane of anxiety and self-directed disgust, reminding him that he was incapable of helping himself and unsure if the pieces he was in could be put back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Eren, my troubled boi. :(
> 
> Here are some lil friendly references!  
> -All racial and gender identifications are purely based on my personal headcanons. With that being said: Eren is Mexican from Carla's fam, and Marco is a native Puerto Rican. PR!Marco is literally the best thing ever trust me I'm a doctor  
> -also Marco has a light lisp that he learned to suppress, but more on that in the next chapter ;)  
> -curious about Jean's feelings for Armin? Don't worry, it's in the next chapter ;)  
> -also for poops and grins, Jean and Mikasa are Good Friends bc they would make a good team imho, but again more on the next chapter!!!! (Is the next chapter JeanMarco? Is there a way to tell? We shall see)
> 
> I wonder how many ocean/water references were in this chapter.... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	6. A Gallop Down Memory Lane featuring Jean Kirschtein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Best friends didn’t let each other slip back into old habits, nor did they approve of shutting the other out in order to protect them. Sometimes, best friends fall in love with each other and aren’t sure of how to continue."
> 
> Or: Jean is super gay for Marco and doesn't know what to do with this discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little painful to write? Because I love these weenies and they like to cause trouble. Can you tell who's gonna be the next couple to be talked about? I made it only a little tiny bit obvious ;) and this time it won't take so many months to write I promise
> 
> CAUTION WARNING for minor violence and blood, panic attacks via arachnophobia, and implied references of past abusive relationships. The most detailed thing is towards the end of the chapter with the fight, but nothing in major detail.

Sometimes, when he least needed a reminder, or when he wasn’t expecting the thought, Jean cursed the part of his genetic code that made him a lightweight. Actually, no, scratch that. Jean cursed the part of his genetic code that made him a lightweight,  _ and _ a philosophical ditzy drunk,  _ and _ a showtune-listening fool.

Actually. In retrospect, with a little more thought, those traits weren’t so terrible. So instead, Jean cursed the part of his life that led him to drinking in the first place. And that was complicated, too, because what was there  _ not _ to drink about? College, Marco Bodt, freckles, his hairstyle, Marco Bodt, tall boys with tan skin and bright smiles, dimples, his sexuality, his best friend, Marco Bodt…

It was complicated.

“Fuck it.” Jean scooped the edges of the Jell-O shot with his pinky and dipped it back into his mouth. The slimy feeling sent a shiver down his spine, and a fire lit up in his core, but at least he felt better.

Sasha—his usual drinking partner, due to the fact that they were “absolute best friends” and were able to understand each other through thick northern accents—stared at him in shock. She had barely picked hers up before he chugged it down. “You okay there, Jeanny?”

“‘M fine,” he grumbled. Already, a beer and a lemonade with triple sec were enough to get him swaying and slurring a bit, but it wasn’t enough. “I’m gonna go get some more shit.”

“Take another Jell-O shot for the road!” Sasha shoved another tiny cup into his hand and smiled. “This one’s stronger, I think.”

It wasn’t very reassuring, but the promise was enough to convince him to ask questions later. Jean threw the other shot back as he walked away and headed in the area that he hoped was the kitchen. He had already forgotten where anything in Connie’s house was—if it  _ was _ Connie’s house. He could have wandered into a stranger’s home, and he would have been none the wiser.

He thought he heard someone mumble something in a foreign language that  _ sounded _ Spanish, coming from the speaker he walked past, and his mind drifted back to Marco. God, that boy was troublesome. He was perfect and kind and pretty and his laugh sounded nice—

Jean stumbled against the sink, filled with ice and chilled beers, and nearly dropped a bottle in his haste to open it. He chugged it down and sighed at the bitter taste, the sensation cooling his wandering mind. The music in the background was dull and thumping, enough to dance under his feet, and the alcohol dragged him further away from reality. A few more sips and he shoved the thought of Marco out of his mind.

Damn it. Another chug.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was pretty sure he was still on the same beer when Eren came in, Reiner and Berthodt close behind. They shared a conversation, or at least it looked like one. Their mouths were moving and it almost sounded like they were talking and he was answering back, and were those tortilla chips behind him?

“Where’s Marco? I thought he usually looks after you.”

Jean cursed Bertholdt in his head for bringing up The Freckled Saint of Dimple-Land and Nice-Butt-Topia. That was just uncool. But he couldn’t let his friends know he was drunk, so he answered like he normally would. “Pff. I don’need anyone t’look after me. I’m a motherfuckin’ fox.”

Nailed it.

Actually, that dismissal of someone who actually mattered a lot to him, romantic or maybe not, who was to say, had him scolding himself. He had to let them know that he wasn’t  _ that _ mean, at least when it came to Marco. Marco was nice. Marco was pure. Marco was…

Jean looked around, stealing a peek into the living room and main party area with a frown, before he gave a more genuine answer. Drunkenness be damned, he wanted to at least see him. “I dunno where he is though.”

He was too distracted on where Marco was—why had he even tried to forget about something that could make him feel as good as alcohol—that he forgot what he was doing. Maybe he was hugging Eren, maybe he was drinking water from a concerned Bert, maybe he was watching as Mikasa’s hand was promptly slapped away by her brother. That seemed right, but he also didn’t truly care.

Reiner had said that Marco was talking with friends, but what kind of friends? They had a solid friend group, sure, but they still had other people they could talk to. Was he trying to hook up with Thomas again? Was he chatting with band friends and reminiscing about that one time at band camp? Was he flirting with that one guy who was invited by a friend and screamed “I’m not straight” with every breath?

“—know about that?”

Jean was forced out of his stupor by the new conversation that was taking place. Mikasa looked concerned and upset, probably over her brother’s reaction, though Reiner was trying his best to reassure her. Eren wasn’t in the kitchen anymore—maybe he went to find Marco.

“You probably just scared him,” Reiner said. “He’s jumpy with shit like that, right?” There was a funny crease between his eyes, and Jean found himself staring at it intently. It almost looked like he was trying to hide how he was actually feeling, but why? To not startle her?

Did Reiner know something?

“He would have said something, though,” Mikasa pointed out. “He’s never done that before.”

“Maybe he’s tryin’ new things,” Jean offered. His friends didn’t need to be upset, even if he didn’t fully understand what was happening. It was the least he could do.

Mikasa smiled, as distant as it was, and patted his shoulder. “Drink your water, Jean.”

Water was a good idea. And it was still cool to drink. He refilled it with the filter from the fridge while the conversation continued behind him, in hopes that everything was still okay.

“Eren’s flighty sometimes—”

“It’s never that extreme, Reiner, even you know that.” Mikasa leaned against the kitchen counter and grabbed her forehead. Her hair draped down to hide her face from view. “Something’s not right. He’s been acting out a lot more, and he doesn’t do his chores. And his insomnia isn’t getting better.”

“Didn’t he see a doctor for that?”

“Dad made him. But we think he’s not taking the medicine.”

The look of concern briefly flashed on Reiner’s face, though it was gone as soon as Bertholdt appeared. When had he left? Oh well. Jean waved at him, glad to see he had returned. Reiner reached for his hand, and Bertholdt took it without hesitation. It was breathtakingly adorable.

“Aww, that’s really cute, guys,” he cooed. “God, you’re such a cute couple.”

Reiner only sighed and nudged the glass of water in his hand. “Yeah, we know.” He turned to Mikasa and ushered her out into the living room, with a promise that Armin would be able to make it right. Hanging out with Armin sounded nice too. Wow, he was pretty. He should go tell him. But he was probably talking to Mikasa about Serious Stuff, so Jean just texted it to him.

There. The night was young; there were still ways to have fun. Maybe Ymir could make that drink he liked. What did she call it? A Caribbean sunset? Whatever it was, no one knew how to make it, and anyone who tried never made it right. The drink always led him down a swaying path of buzzes and warmth, like a boat rocking softly on a bay while hits from the musical “Rent” filled the air instead of oxygen. If he shut his eyes for long enough, Jonathan Larson’s music and Anthony Rapp’s vocals rocked his world.

Unfortunately, Ymir was hiding somewhere, and the best way he could get to her was through Krista, but she was gone too, so the next best person to find Ymir was Marco, and Jean was too busy running straight into him to really pay attention to his mission.

Oh. Wait.

Jean looked up as soon as he made contact with the warm body, and he was nearly shocked into sobriety upon seeing Marco. He had found him! And he looked as nice as ever, face flushed from drinking, bourbon eyes wide, and freckles as scattered and sparkling as ever. What a beautiful boy.

Marco must have been as drunk as Jean, for he blinked himself out of his stupor a moment later and smiled, radiant and overflowing with happiness. Fuck. “Hey, I found you!” He exclaimed. “I thought I heard you in here.”

_ “Hi, um, you’re Jean, right?” _

_ The shy, quiet boy in his cinema studies class was standing in front of an empty chair beside him. He knew he shared a history class with that other Yankee, but he didn’t think this boy would be here. “Yeah, that’s me.” What was his name again? Mark? _

_ “We’re in Strobel’s film class together.” There were a few words that were said forcefully, as if it took all his effort to pronounce it. Jean recalled the few times he had heard the boy—Matthew?—speak in class, and there was a lisp to his words that had him rerouting his sentences with every breath. “Do you mind if I sit here?” _

_ He didn’t mind, but he didn’t want to ask him—not Michael—his name. That was too embarrassing. And he would bet money that that Eren kid knew it. “Sure, yeah.” Jean moved his backpack out of the seat so that he could sit down. His body was a little rounder, reminding Jean of the reason that made him so bony, and any visible skin was covered in freckles. “And you’re, um…” _

_ No offense looked to be taken; maybe he was faced with the question more than Jean thought. “Marco.” _

_ Marco, right, of course. Jean started to nod, but decided to have some fun. From what he had gathered, the kid was just as lost as he was. And if the closest person to him was that one band girl, then he must feel isolated at times. Even being friendly with someone could lighten his day. And Jean wasn’t sure why he cared about this boy named Marco and not Matthew. The one thing he did know was that being far away from home was never a nice feeling. “Polo.” _

_ It took a moment, but realization crossed his face, and Marco smiled wide. A few freckles disappeared into his dimples. Jean thought it was the cutest thing ever, and his sexuality promptly dragged him down a spiral of uncertainty. _

“Why didn’t you come get me then?” Jean pouted. He poked Marco’s chest, upset (though not genuinely) that he had been left on his own for so long. He ignored the flashback he had experienced for now. “Were you having a party without me?”

“Uh, I think everyone’s having a party without you,” he giggled, glancing over his shoulder. God, he was pretty. But this was different from how he felt about Mikasa or Armin. Once upon a time, he had felt something for them—had even wanted to kiss them or hold their hand—and with Armin, he had tried it—but that was it. They were part of the weird friend group he had found, and he cared for them as he did for anyone else, even if he never said so.

For Marco, it was different. Jean saw him in an ethereal light, not unlike the one he had first seen Mikasa in. Each freckle connected to form their own constellations on olive skin. Thanks to marching band, his body had slimmed out, but there was still some softness to his belly. His legs were long and strong, though his thighs were particularly nice, thick and tender from the marching drills. His eyes twinkled like gems, his hair ruffled but attractive in any style, his smile gentle.

And that was on a purely physical level. His voice was a melodic rumble of sound, clenching Jean’s insides and bringing up images of warm sunny days and shifting blades of grass. He was incredibly smart, always wanting to talk about something new, always looking to learn and listening with intense, attentive vigor. His laugh was the ringing of bells, a match to boundless energy that came off him in droves. Wherever he went, light followed and embraced him, desperate for his touch. Jean knew he would never be able to contain such a person, but the possibility made him desperate to try.

Jean realized he had been staring at Marco and hadn’t said anything for a suspiciously long amount of time. The taller boy tilted his head and offered a hesitant smile, if only because he couldn’t read him. A rarity to their friendship. “You lost there, Jean?”

Uhh. What was he supposed to say? How did he use words again? Jean licked his lips, tempted to close in on himself. He didn’t think he would have to  _ say _ anything to Marco. At least not right away. “I think so. I’m in Connie’s house.”

Marco smiled, physically relieved at the comment. That must have meant he  _ was _ in Connie’s house. Who would have thought? “Okay, good! Can’t have you wandering off, right?” His accent that had trailed after him from Puerto Rico was thicker than it typically was.

“I can wander off if I want to!” Jean pouted. “I’m like a, like a wolf.” Another stifled giggle, another reason for his heart to beat faster. God, it was like anything he said was funny to him. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m tough!” Jean shoved his shoulder to prove it, but it was more like a slap than an actual threat. Damn.

Marco laughed outright and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you sure are. I’m very convinced.”

“Well, good. It’s better you learn now than…” Shit, what was a good comeback? “Than ten years from now.” He was getting better at these.

Marco gave another laugh, this one quieter than the one before, and simply stared at him. To Jean, and his rather alcohol-fuddled mind, it looked like every ounce of affection was pouring from his gaze. Someone shuffled past them to get to the kitchen, and they moved closer together, maybe not on instinct but definitely without complaint. He thought there was a darker tint to freckled cheeks, but it must have been a shift in the lighting. And their hands brushed together and jumped apart like electric shocks—a mistake.

“So you, uh…” Jean fumbled for words, and he reached out to steady himself on the wall. “You were looking for me?”

Marco bit his lip and nodded. His gaze stranded down and honed in on his mouth. Jean tried not to do the same.

“Huh. Interesting.” He waited a beat for Marco to say something, but he remained quiet, still looking at Jean’s lips. “If I said I was looking for you, how would you feel?”

Jean understood quickly why Marco hadn’t initially spoken. As soon as he opened his mouth, his breath mingled between them and made the air between them hot. “You were?”

Oh. Just speaking heightened the tension between them. “Y-yeah. Y’know, because you always take care of me, and…” What was he supposed to say? What was  _ right _ to say? He did not expect these reactions from his best friend. Was this why he never drank at their parties? “Uhm. I wanted to hang out with you.”

It sounded so lame. Of course he wanted to hang out with him; that’s what best friends did with each other.

“Gee. If I had known,” Marco chuckled nervously, rubbing a finger under his nose, “I would have come over sooner.”

He wanted to snap back at him, not in malice but in drunken motivation, tell him how he should have known better and just been with him from the start, and how they were dumb for thinking they could try and dance around each other as if nothing was even slightly romantic between them. Who were they trying to fool?

Jean reminded himself quickly of how he couldn’t do any of that. Addressing the awkwardness would be acknowledging that there was a problem in the first place. And if they acknowledged it, it was a matter of time before they acted on it. But how terrible that was, he realized, depended on how he wanted to look at their situation.

_ “How come you barely speak English?” _

_ It hadn’t meant to come off as harsh, but Jean let it fester instead of taking it back. Marco just blinked at the comment from across the lunch table, clearly hesitant to continue with this new conversation and torn between eating his lunch or contributing to the cafeteria noise. They should have stayed on 80s hair bands. “What are you talking about?” _

_ Jean gave him an unimpressed look and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Come on, seriously? The only time you say anything is when Strobel calls on you or if you’re talking to Ymir.” _

_ “That…” Marco frowned and stopped himself from continuing. He looked so small despite their equal heights. “I don’t want to talk about it here.” _

_ “How come?” _

_ For what had to be a first, Marco got frustrated with him. Jean had thought it was a fair question to ask, but seeing it upset his somewhat recent friend was making him rethink his reason for bringing it up. “Why do you think, Jean? Is it not obvious?” _

_ Ah. There it was. Jean knew the answer, because it was right in front of him. The lisp that took over every time Marco spoke was only slightly obvious, never overpowering unless he spoke for too long or he said a particularly soft sound. Ymir and Krista must have been good enough friends, because he was always chatting in Spanish with the former, and the latter was one of few Jean had seen him talking to willingly. The other person was himself, of course. _

_ “I guess I didn’t see a problem.” Jean went back to nudging a questionable sandwich and paid more attention to the heated debate happening between Sasha and Ymir beside them. Marco was shocked at his words, but he just bowed his head and said nothing for the rest of lunch. _

For as long as he could recall, regardless of what manner it was in, Marco had been special to Jean. He was distinct in a way that pushed his voice and smile above crowds. They became attached, and Jean found himself dependent to causing Marco’s happiness. And if he ended up being a romantic part of that mission, beyond the boundaries of the friendships, then who was he to deny himself—and Marco—that experience?

Fuck it.

Jean wrapped an arm around Marco’s waist and pulled him close. The lingering scent of cinnamon and apples drifted up from beneath the swirls of alcohol, and Jean clung to it to keep himself grounded. Otherwise, he would have lost himself in Marco’s eyes and the delighted yelp that escaped his lips. He had to say something, quick, or else let himself be consumed by fear and never come back to this.

“Since we’re here now,” Jean said in a soft voice, tracing light patterns into Marco’s lower back and sending chills through his body, “you can tell me what you wanted to do with me. When you found me.”

Marco choked on an attempted response, his eyes widened in shock. He gripped Jean’s shoulders to steady himself. “U-uh, well,” he stammered out, “I’m not really sure. I didn’t have a plan.”

“Mm. Too drunk for one?”

“Shut up.” Marco slapped his arm, but his smile appeared to accompany a bubble of giggles. “You’re drunker.”

“Nuh-uh!” Jean backed away, arms falling at his sides, but Marco picked up where he had. The warmth that came from his embrace was more intimate than it normally was. “If I was drunk, you would know.”

Marco reached up to toy with blond hair, gazing at it like it was the most fascinating thing he had seen. “Uh-huh. I believe you.”

Jean swatted his hand away from his hair and entwined the fingers with his own. They weren’t getting anywhere, eyeing each other and tripping around what was so obvious for them. Hadn’t they done that since Marco became single?

_ “Hey, Jersey, you got a second?” _

_ Ten minutes before their first class started, Ymir had walked over to Jean and plopped down in the empty seat beside him. He barely looked over at her and stayed focused on the computer screen in front of him. The more he ignored her, the higher the chances of her leaving him alone. “I am very busy, actually.” He had been given a video to edit for the school’s news program, and he only had three days to finish it. Although he wasn’t overwhelmed with it just yet, the perfectionist in him wanted to make the best of the project. Not many sophomores got the same opportunities that were open to upperclassmen. _

_ A hand that appeared over his shoulder shoved the computer mouse out of his hand, behind his computer and into Reiner’s grasp. Krista pulled over a chair from the table beside him and crossed her legs. He should probably rein in the sass, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to say something. _

_ “What is this, an intervention?” _

_ “How would you rate your relationship with Marco?” Ymir asked. She was leant back in the chair beside him, hands crossed behind her neck, looking up as if in deep thought. _

_ Jean cocked an eyebrow at the question. Why was that important information? “Who wants to know?” _

_ “We want to know if you’ve heard anything about a boy he might be dating,” Krista said. “He’s not paying attention to marching drills anymore, and Thomas has seen him sneaking off during their lunch period.” _

_ “He’s dating someone?” If he was, this was news to Jean. He considered Marco a close, maybe even best, friend, and while they weren’t prone to conversations on romance, nothing had come up recently. _

_ “We think he is.” _

_ “I know he is,” Ymir stated. _

_ “You don’t know anything until he tells you,” Reiner curtly pointed out before he focused his gaze on Jean. Seeing the jovial teen so serious made his stomach lurch with worry. “I noticed something strange two weeks ago, after the last home game.” Jean had gone to New York City with his family to see relatives and hadn’t been able to go to the game. “His mom couldn’t find him and sent me and Ymir into the school to look for him.” _

_ “He was making out with a boy—” _

_ “Ymir, cut it out,” Krista scolded. “He hasn’t come out yet.” _

_ Reiner glared at Ymir, but said nothing in return. “He was hanging out with someone we didn’t know. I don’t wanna assume anything, but the people we’ve asked aren’t happy about it.” _

_ “In other words,” Krista frowned, “this guy is bad news.” _

_ Jean swallowed and shrugged, scratching the side of his nose. He tried to think back on what, if anything, had changed, but he couldn’t see much. His class schedule only matched with Marco for four classes, and between the unusual scheduling of their school and the locations of class, their time for seeing each other had become scarce. Plus, not to mention, it was football season, and marching band was pulling every ounce of energy out of Marco.  “I would help if I could, but I’m just as lost.” He hoped nothing bad was happening to Marco, or at the very least, if something was, he would have enough sense to swallow his pride and ask someone for help. What a stubborn bastard. _

_ Connie came in and complained about Ymir taking his seat, and the conversation ended. Marco came in ten minutes late to class with a hurried apology and flushed cheeks. He smiled at Jean as he passed and sat behind him, but he was only half-conscious of his response. Marco hadn’t spoken with a lisp. His words were crisp and clear, as confident as his Spanish. Across the room, Krista and Reiner were sharing a worried glance, and Ymir’s fingers tapped the keyboard with more vigor than necessary. _

“Tell me your plan.”

Marco looked surprised by the sudden confidence, and his touch was a bit more hesitant. “But I don’t have one. I was just gonna—”

“Because I can tell you everything I wanted to do. When I saw you.” God, the alcohol was making it much harder to make full sentences. He had so much to say, in a shrinking time span, and he had to get it out.

No response came, and Jean was scared that he had frightened Marco out of the moment and lost his chance. He kept his gaze down, at the space between them, at his tightly-laced black kicks and Marco’s scuffed red high tops, for fear of what was oncoming. If he had scared his best friend away, then he had no idea when the next opportunity to confess would come up. It could be never. It could be next week. It could be—

Jean spared a glance up to see whiskey brown gawking at him, accompanying the scarlet flush of his cheeks and wide pupils. There was a tint of hesitance, but it seemed to be from a fear of the unknown and his inexperience than a genuine fear of what was to come.

“Tell me,” Marco whispered. “What would you have done?”

_ Shit. _ Jean took a steady breath and let his thoughts gather before he opened his mouth. “I would have pulled you close—like we are now—and hugged you really tight. You, um, you always like to make sure I’m okay at parties, because I can’t handle alcohol, but you were doing stuff away from me and I’m happy for that. Um.” Shit, no, don’t get lost in him. This was the worst time to get distracted by his eyes. Jean grounded himself by running a hand up his arm. Marco shuddered. “I would’ve—I would have split a pretzel with you, because I know you like them, and I would have doused your side in mustard, even though it’s fucking gross.” Marco giggled at that, fueling Jean’s determination and motivating him to continue without hesitation. “I would have middle-school-danced with you, because Selena came on and she’s your guilty music pleasure.”

“And because all brown people know Selena,” Marco teased with an eyeroll, but his tone was affectionate. Jean was accentuating his understanding of his best friend’s music selection, not an ignorance of different cultures or ethnicities.

“Or from Mexico.”

“No, Ymir says that. Geez, Jean, get it right.”

Jean huffed at the chiding, but the hands around him were traveling up his sides, and one was  _ definitely _ riding up the back of his shirt, and if he didn’t continue now— “I-I would have gotten you a water! Because the taste of alcohol bothers you and you need water to drink it away. And I would have made sure it was cool enough, and I probably would have had to tie your shoes, because you’re always stepping on your laces, you fucking klutz, you were a fucking drum major, how can you not walk straight—”

“Because I’m not.”

Well. There went Jean’s train of thought. It was a nice one, while it lasted. But fortunately, there were more important things to ponder on. “You aren’t. And I’m not really straight, either.”

“”Well, look at that.” Marco’s smile was soft as he reached up to cup his cheek. “What can you do with your totally-not-straight best friend?”

“I dunno. You tell me.” Jean poked his chest. “I already told you what I wanna do.”

It was Marco’s turn to be flustered at such an offer, but he was quicker to the draw than Jean would have thought. “I would make sure my best friend wants to go through with this, because there’s no turning back for either of us. I would hold him really close,” Marco shifted so that their bodies were directly touching, hip to hip, enough for clothed crotches to brush, “like this. And I would ask for a kiss.”

“Hgk.” Jean didn’t expect the noise to come out of his throat, clearing it quickly and forcing himself to not fidget in place. “You should ask him. To kiss you, that is.”

Marco hummed in agreement. “You’re right. I wonder where I can find him.”

“Okay, you know what—”

A kiss on the nose, one-two-three, and he was gone. The air between them was cool, sharp in contrast to the warmth they had shared, and Jean felt drunk on a whole different level. This was something new, something exciting, something worth all of the pent-up emotions he had carried for so long. He wanted—desired—more. He felt parched, his throat dry, his hands anxious to continue touching.

The first contact after the nose kiss was searing like fire. Jean grabbed hold of Marco’s wrist and started to tug him out of the kitchen, past the bar, through the party, and into the hallway, where it was considerably clearer. They made it as far as the closet—the one across from Connie’s room, filled with pet supplies—before Marco shoved him against the wooden door and kissed him on the lips.

_ “Please end me.” _

_ Jean was sprawled out on the floor of the back offices in their computer lab. Their school’s film festival was in two hours, and he had an ACT prep workshop the next morning, and the only thing on his mind was Marco fucking Bodt and how good his butt looked in those slacks. Ymir was helping Bert download the films onto a hard drive so that they could be shown on the auditorium projector. _

_ “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.” Jean extended an arm towards the duo. “Tell my children I love them.” _

_ “I thought you were over Mikasa,” Bertholdt said, looking away from the downloading files and down at Jean with concern. _

_ “He’s moaning over Marco,” Ymir pointed out. Jean only groaned in defeat; she didn’t have to say it like that. _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Because he’s dating a douche who changed who he was but doesn’t care enough about him to want to be seen with him outside of school.” _

_ “I’m only a douche sometimes,” Jean said. “I wouldn’t make Marco change.” _

_ Ymir let out a long sigh and rolled her eyes. “I know, Jean. Everyone knows. Except Marco.” _

_ Bertholdt bent over and reached out to help him up. “You’ll get your suit dirty if you keep lying down like that. Just try to think about other things.” _

_ “Like what?” Jean huffed. Standing and wallowing in misery wasn’t as fun as laying spread-eagle and brooding. _

_ “Like the film festival, or all the bad jokes that Sasha and Connie are gonna pull, or the fact that Ymir has already won Best in Show before the show starts—” _

_ Ymir was talented when she was given a short film idea and a camera. Jean fully believed that she had won, because no one came close to her film’s creativity and cinematic beauty for an amateur filmmaker. If she continued down that career path, she would certainly be successful. _

_ Damn Bertholdt and his tricks. He had distracted him long enough for Marco to come in, hair ruffled and bowtie undone. There was no mystery as to where he had been—his boyfriend far from winning a citizenship award, to the point where he was scarcely mentioned to or allowed near their friend group. It didn’t help the stab in Jean’s gut as he tied his best friend’s bowtie and sealed it over a hickey. He was just thankful Ymir and Bertholdt had enough mercy in them to act like they had been talking about something else. _

Jean seethed at the memory. Even if it had only been a year since he had come to terms with his affection for Marco, remembering the turmoil he has spiraled down felt fresh all over. It had started halfway through freshman year, shoved down by his attempts to be straight and what he deemed normal. He flirted with Mikasa (as one-sided as it was) and kissed Sasha a few times, but when everything was said and done, Marco hovered on the outskirts of his mind. He let their friendship form, ranting about Eren or how dumb Reiner and Bert were for avoiding the sexual tension between them. They got Taco Bell after school events and wrote each other notes during class that always strayed from the first subject. If they needed someone who could understand and talk with them, they knew at least one person able to be there.

Right before Thanksgiving of sophomore year, Marco started dating a guy. He and Jean had already come out to one another, but they kept it to themselves until the other was ready. Jean, however, was kept in the dark when the boyfriend came around. He forgot his name long ago, because it was unimportant. The guy was a jerk, shaming everything that made Marco so wonderful and nice in order to shove him into a box. He got control over his lisp, he buried his accent in more American sounds, he lost weight and formed muscles (lean and slim yet firm and thick)—he did what his boyfriend wanted and expected of him. He nearly dropped out of band, he skipped class to make out in the bathroom, and for a brief period of time, he was shut away from his friends. It became a concern of everyone in their friend group when Jean and Ymir were dropped from his circle. That was when they got involved.

Jean hated thinking about the boyfriend, because it brought back unpleasant memories. The bitter taste of iron as he bit his tongue and held back scalthing words, per everyone’s request, as Marco sat in front of them and sobbed, broken and shelled-out from what he had once been, as the person he had become shredded to reveal the imperfections he forgot to love and learned to hate. There was so much he missed—band, his social life, learning,  _ Taco Bell with Jean _ —but he didn’t feel strong enough to break away from it. Even if he knew he would screw himself over in the end, Jean had broken the no-speaking vow.

_ “Those are his words.” _

_ Marco looked up from where he was knelt, having dropped to the ground when his dog Chico had trotted over to soothe him. Even if he wasn’t a certified therapy dog, Jean felt reassured that the pit bull was there. Nevertheless, hearing Jean speak for the first time that evening had surprised him, and Marco rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “Wh-what?” _

_ Jean ignored the warning glares around them and kept going. “Those are his words. Not yours. He tried to take control of all of you, but he didn’t. You can get away from him. He doesn’t want you to.” _

_ Marco didn’t answer. He wrapped his arms tighter around Chico. _

_ “Do you want to?” _

_ “Yes.” There was no hesitation in his reply. Just fear and hope. _

_ “Then you can, and you will. But you have to find and maintain that strength. We can only do so much.” _

How far they had come. How far Marco had come: strong and brave and still standing after fighting his way out of an abusive relationship. He still smiled and laughed and lived and survived. He still hurt and cried and yelled. But he was still standing, and he was going after what he wanted, and he was the only one who could control those wants.

“Hey.”

Jean returned to reality when Marco moved away and back, staring at him with fear and a troubled realization. The lack of response must have startled him back, though not in a positive way. So the blond reached up to pull him down again, smiling and chuckling under his breath. “My bad. I got distracted, thinking of you.”

Marco scoffed and settled back against him. Jean’s back was flush against the closet door, but at least he was leaning against something. It was better than the ground. “Whoops.”

When their lips found the other pair again, Jean scolded himself for letting himself get interrupted by his thoughts. He had a Marco to kiss and hold, and he would hate himself later if he missed the opportunity. So he dove in, slinking down against the door so Marco could taste more of him. His mouth chased after him as if he had predicted the move, and his tongue was quickly recaptured. Jeez, this boy knew how to make his knees weak.

Jean kept his arms wrapped around Marco’s shoulders, his fingers wandering to his nape and playing with his hair. A light yelp was exclaimed into his mouth, followed quickly by a pleasured moan. And he could make sweet noises while impressing him? How nice. Jean continued his trek up the back of his head to find purchase in dark silky hair. He smirked in triumph when Marco sighed into him and shifted closer; nailed it, again.

Unfortunately, two could play at that game. As his hands traveled up through Marco’s hair, a warm grip snuck under his shirt and held onto his sides. He would have been able to hold down a sound if it hadn’t surprised him, or if it hadn’t held him down against the closet door and taken every bit of breath in him. A keen erupted from his throat and was swallowed up quickly by Marco.

“Fuck,” Jean sighed when they separated for a breath and pressed their foreheads together. “Do that again.”

Marco, elated by the request, smiled and roved his hands over the skin in front of him. He returned to Jean’s lips and shifted their bodies closer, giving him better access to both skin and tongue and allowing their lower halves to scrape together. Jean submerged his hands in Marco’s hair and tugged as his hips gave a confident thrust forward. Electricity danced through his body at the motion, and heat coiled into his stomach.

It was easy to get lost in the kiss. Jean enjoyed the hands scaling his body and the mouth that was fully occupied with dragging out small moans from his core. Marco, with his hair being pulled after each rise of his hands, was just as thorough with the sounds he made. He made such pleasant noises, Jean wished he could hear them for the rest of the night. Hell, pinned against the closet door or not, he wanted all the boy could give him. His tongue scraped against teeth, his hands found purchase from the texture they roamed, his hips created friction and arousal below the belt—

“That’s really gay.”

They shot apart at the familiar voice, and reality came crashing down a bit too harshly. Jean scrambled against the closet door as Marco leaned against the opposite wall, as if the kiss between them had physically thrown him off. Annie walked between them, but Jean only realized it was her when Marco watched her enter the Springers’ bird room. Once Marco’s gaze returned to him, he simultaneously lost himself in his stare and became hyper-aware of his surroundings.

The music of the party was booming against his feet and hands, and the alcohol he had consumed curled in his stomach and shook his legs. The hard surface against his back casted Jean out from the rest of the world, as if he was floating on a plane of existence separate from everyone else—Marco included. Marco, his best friend, the infection of his mind, the poison that smeared past his lips and trickled down his sides, the thorn that had been wedged under his skin and prodded every inch of his body.

Jean had already had his share of troubles over his sexuality, and he recalled that feeling of fear without any trouble. This was different. This was an acknowledgement of something wrong, of taking advantage of a situation where they were both too drunk to understand what they were doing. For Jean, kissing meant feelings, and feelings meant  danger, and feelings collided in a crash of danger and the unknown and a single nagging thought that he had done something wrong.

Jean ran. He would yell at himself later for it, but he had to get out. His brain felt like it was suffocating itself. Dashing out the patio door to the backyard, he stumbled down the steps to the kiddie pool. Spike hopped up from his lazy slouch in the water and wagged his tail in greeting, and Jean dropped beside him and wrapped his arms around the Great Dane.

“Yer such a good dog,” he whispered. “Don’t fall in love. Stay a good boy—who am I kidding, of course you will—”

“You okay there, Jean?”

Jean looked up, amidst the kiddie pool he was sitting in, at Reiner and Bertholdt, who looked so much like the picture of worried parents, sitting in adjacent lawn chairs. God, they were amazing. How did he get lucky, first Marco, and now them?

Marco. Right. Who had feelings that Jean had crushed in order to make room for his own, without the tall boy’s permission. The gross feeling of dread creeped back up in the back of Jean’s throat.

“I did a bad,” he said. He was convinced he had sobered up as soon as he had started kissing Marco, but it would seem he was wrong. At least Spike kissed his cheek and nuzzled against him. “I kissed Marco.”

Reiner’s eyebrows shot up, probably stunned into silence, but Bertholdt took the news in stride, as if he heard it every day. “Did you want to?” He asked gently.

“Yeah, but I dunno if he did.” Jean scratched Spike behind an ear, and his back leg thumped in content.

“Did he push you away?”

“No. He…kissed back, and it was nice, but…” He knew what Marco was like when someone showed interest in him. That willing nature to please the other had run rampant in him for half of their high school years. The thought of it happening to Jean, especially when they were both intoxicated, made him sick. “I’m afraid he didn’t want it.”

Reiner slouched down in his chair and groaned. “I never asked for this,” he grumbled under his breath.

Bert smacked his knee. “Stop it,” he scolded. “You’re not helping.”

Jean looked between the two. Was something wrong between them? Were they in the middle of a fight before they had been interrupted? “Are you two okay?”

“The world is ending, Jean,” Reiner stated. “Everything’s falling apart. Enjoy it while you can.”

The grip around Spike tightened, though the dog simply nudged his hair back for a few more sniffs and licks. There was no way it was happening—now?! Of all places?!

Bertholdt appeared much closer than before, kneeling beside the pool, and grabbed his arm. “He’s just overreacting,” he assured him. “The world isn’t ending. He’s being dramatic.”

Jean let out a long sigh and relaxed. Reiner didn’t look too convinced, but he could trust Bert, and his word was good enough. “Okay.”

“Do you wanna tell me about what happened with Marco?”

A vigorous shake of the head—bad idea, actually. The world was starting to spin.

“Okay, you don’t have to. You can sit here and hug Spike. But if you wanna talk about it, you can, okay?”

Jean nodded, this time with less motion. A water bottle was shoved in his line of sight, held up by Reiner.

“You need to drink some,” he said. His voice was considerably softer than the antagonistic stance he had had before, but there was something under his voice that suggested something else was going on. It had little to do with himself, or Marco, and for Jean’s drunken mind, that was enough to satisfy his racing thoughts on the matter.

Between sips of water and head pats for Spike, Jean wallowed silently in the kiddie pool. His clothes felt like plaster on his skin, but he felt considerably less drunk than when he had arrived in the backyard. There was still something raging in his body, but it was at a level more easily controlled, with the worst effect being a wobbly balance. He tested how wobbly by slowly standing, first sitting on his haunches and then pushing himself off. Bertholdt and Reiner, who had been talking quietly to each other in the minutes that had passed, jumped back to Jean like concerned parents fretting over a toddler.

“I’m okay,” Jean rasped. Even with the water helping his throat, he sounded rough. “I’m good, see?”

“You sound terrible,” Reiner pointed out.

Jean kicked some water at him. What a jackass. “Thanks.”

“At least you’re feeling better,” Bert sighed. “Do you still wanna talk about what happened?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Spike stood and shook out his coat before trotting off to do his business. Jean barely flinched at the spray of water. “Me and Marco made out in the hallway. I did it because I was drunk but I have a crush on him or whatever, and I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“But he kissed you back?”

“Sure, I guess, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“What were you paying attention to?” Reiner asked.

“Him kissing me.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Are you worried you forced him into it?” Bert offered, almost cautiously.

Jean didn’t answer. Saying the words himself would make it a reality, and that was the last thing he wished for. Thankfully, the parents of his friend group understood what he wanted to say. They shared a knowing glance with each other, probably talking telepathically like the losers they were, and then Bert spoke, eyeing him with the gentlest gaze Jean had ever seen.

“You’re not  _ him _ , first of all.”

“I know that—”

Reiner glared at him as a warning to not interrupt Bertholdt. Point taken. The taller of the three continued; “I think Marco knows it, too. And from what you told me, he was just as willing to kiss you as you were to kiss him. But you won’t really know until you talk to him about it. Because worrying about it like this isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“And,” Reiner added, picking up where Bert had left off with almost surprising finesse, “if anything, alcohol did not prevent you from making a decision that you wouldn’t have made if you were sober. Which says a lot, if you think about it.”

Damn. They were going to make great parents when they got older. Jean took both of their words to heart and evaluated them; there was only one thing he could do. And he had wanted to take a nap and forget anything had ever happened.

“I’m gonna go find Marco,” Jean said. “And talk to him. About things.” With a final goodbye to a stick-brandishing Spike, he returned to the house and looked around. He didn’t expect Marco to be in the hallway, but looking across the sea of people in the living room, there was no freckled god to be seen. Armin and Annie were at the bar, but both looked too enraptured with their own worries and concerns, so Jean left them alone. He was in the middle of trying to figure out how he was going to do this when he ran into someone—a familiar, albeit worried, Sasha. When she saw who she had bumped into, her eyes lit up.

“Oh my god, my best friend,” she breathed out. “It’s been so long. Where have you been?”

Jean blinked at her owlishly, shocked at her hurried demeanor but not enough to ask her about it. Marco came first. “I was making out with Marco, but then I lost him—”

“Sounds good, let’s find him!” Sasha tugged on his arm sharply and gestured to the party in front of them. “Where do you wanna start? I’ll go here, on the other side of the room!”

Weird. Jean made a mental note to ask her about it when he was feeling better and had a Marco to talk to. Even if he wanted to talk to her, she was rushing away with a flick of her hair, out of his grasp.

Jean roamed through the kitchen and dining room, the furthest rooms from the back door, and saw a few people he recognized, but they couldn’t answer his inquiry. The party was starting to die down—the music was softer now, and the crowd of people had diminished—but his search still felt impossible. Marco could be anywhere, and with each place he checked, Jean wondered if he was just one second behind finding him. He scanned the perimeter of the living room twice, switching with Sasha to let her go to the living room. But he was just as unlucky, and he gave up shortly, slouching into one of the couches and hanging his head in his hands.

He had failed, both in finding his best friend and in taking advantage of his chance when he had it right in his hand. And now that Sasha was talking to Connie—albeit intensely and far from flirtatious—there really was no help for him. The only person he could blame was himself.

The thought of re-drowning himself in alcohol was tempting, especially with the bar being a free-for-all now and the crowd diminishing to a few people—mostly familiar faces—mingling and talking amongst each other. Jean remembered that his friend group would be staying the night, and the possibility of seeing Marco sparked his determination. But first, he would need a few drinks. It couldn’t hurt him.

He was almost done with a half-empty bottle of some type of liquor before he saw the person he was looking for, halfway out the door with his duffel and looking smaller than he was, a look he hadn’t taken on in a year.

“Marco!”

Hearing his name called, the boy turned to him, surprised at the voice. In an instant, his duffel was meeting the hardwood floor. Jean stumbled over to him, stopping right in front of red high tops. His words died on his tongue. What was there to say? Where did he even start?

Marco gulped and shuffled in place. “Hi.” His voice was faint and wispy, like talking too loud would be offensive; something was wrong. “I, um…was just—” The lisp he had learned—forced—to oppress had risen up. It only ever did when he was scared, when his mind was too scrambled and jittery off anxiety to focus on anything else.

“What’s going on?” Jean asked quietly. He wanted to reach out and hold him, even if it was a slight contact; the sad look that was being aimed at him was going to break him. But he kept his distance, if only in fear of having him run off and slip through his hands again. “You look sick.”

“I’m okay.” Marco glanced at the front door nervously. “Nothing’s wrong. I promise.”

Jean frowned at that. If he was supposed to believe that, then Marco was going to have to be a better liar. “Don’t promise me something like that. I know you can’t keep it.”

Marco looked offended at his comment, but the look quickly dropped at the opening of the door. Jean knew it was just more guests leaving the party, but it was more significant than that. That look of fear spread through his eyes was not something he wanted.

_ “Hey Jean?” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “What do you think is out there? In space?” _

_ Jean snorted, shifting slightly beside him to curve into Marco’s side. “You’ve been hanging around Ymir too much again.” _

_ Marco chuckled. “Shut up, I have not. I’m being serious. What do you think is out there?” _

_ Jean looked up at him with a sigh, though he was more than happy to amuse him. They were lying together in Connie’s backyard for his eighteenth “birthday bash”; somewhere behind them, some of their friends were playing with Spike. They weren’t bothering their private space, though, so he had little to no care for what was happening. _

_ The sky above them was littered with stars, glittering balls of light farther away than he could comprehend. He knew some of them made shapes and characters of mythic legend, but he couldn’t remember them. The moon, taking up sunlight to show off its entirety, was a perfect platter in the middle of the sky. _

_ “Did you know that some of the constellations aren’t as accurate as they were when someone found them?” _

_ “Did Ymir tell you that?” _

_ “If you’re gonna be like that, I won’t tell you any more star facts.” _

_ Jean sent him a glare, though Marco stared right up at the sky, as if he was alone. That was just unfair. “You didn’t answer my question.” _

_ “Sorry, I can’t hear haters.” _

_ Jean shuffled closer to him, determined to get those eyes back on him. He knew that Marco could be as stubborn as he was, especially when he wanted to prove a point, but that wasn’t going to happen. Jean threw an arm around Marco’s middle and did all he could to restrain himself from nuzzling into his chest. He kept his head still, the soft scent of warm apples wafting past his nose. _

_ Marco gasped quietly at the arm and spared a quick glance down. Jean remained just as still, not wanting to disrupt the atmosphere around them. His feelings for Marco had made themselves known to him last year, in the middle of junior year. Whether those feelings were reciprocated was anyone’s guess, but their strategic dancing around each other was becoming more and more intimate. _

_ “Sometimes,” Marco began in a low voice, “I like to think that I could fly off into space because there are so many terrible things on this planet. But then I remember the good things.” _

_ “…what are the good things?” _

_ “Dogs.” Jean snorted at that, and Marco’s laugh rumbled beneath him. “Pizza. Beaches. Piragua.” _

_ “No people?” _

_ Marco smiled but said nothing. Jean was about to ask further, but he caught onto the unspoken reference quickly. It was just as obvious as asking if the other wanted to get a bite to eat or to just hang out; of course they would. They were best friends. They were… _

_ No. Impossible. That wasn’t fair to Marco. _

_ “Well, when you figure one out, let me know,” Jean said, and he shut his eyes. If there was a hand in his hair and a tightened grasp around his waist, he pretended not to notice. _

Best friends didn’t let each other slip back into old habits, nor did they approve of shutting the other out in order to protect them. Sometimes, best friends fall in love with each other and aren’t sure of how to continue.

“Marco…” Jean took the first move towards Marco by raising his hand and holding his cheek. He moved back, a silent question to see how wanted the movement had been, but Marco turned into his hand and shut his eyes, sighing out deeply. “Marco. Are you trying to see the stars without me?”

Jean might not have known the full story, but he knew enough to put the pieces together. Something had triggered Marco’s memories of bad boyfriends and time away from the people who cared about him, and he was near to slipping down that road again. He hadn’t been trying to shut him out—that was left unsaid, there was very little that Marco did out of malice. Maybe Marco had fallen for him and that helped convince him to stay. Jean hadn’t so much as fallen, but stumbled face-first was a more appropriate description. But they were best friends, first and foremost, and no one was allowed to test that.

Marco dove forward and hugged him closely. If he wasn’t drunk, or if there was a better situation, perhaps he would have felt giddy at the embrace. But Jean was too focused on the urgency in the gesture, on the fingers folded tightly behind his back and the stiff arms gripping him with little moving room. Luckily, he had no plans on moving away from him. Jean wrapped his arms around Marco, gently combing a hand through his hair.

The hug was more than a silent question for comfort. Jean was a constant in his life, a grounding figure to what mattered and what he needed. It didn’t need to be requested; the response was automatic.

“Hey, take a breath,” Jean whispered to him. “Just relax, okay?”

“I’m okay,” Marco said, followed by a deep sigh. “I just needed this moment.”

Jean moved out of the hug so he could press a soft kiss to his temple. He held Marco like he would a lover, tender in care and cautious of the fragile air around them. “I get it. Are you feeling a little better?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

That was a terrible answer. Jean pressed more pecks up his cheek and to his ear. “How about now?”

His answer didn’t have a chance to be released, as a sharp force pushed him away from Marco and stepped between him. Jean was just barely able to steady himself—the back of his knee hit the table used for the Springers’ shrine, thankfully clear of its contents—and look up at Ymir. Marco looked over her shoulder with bewilderment.

“You fucking dick,” she sneered. “I should have known you would upset him.”

“What’re you talking about?” Jean retorted back. “I didn’t do anything!” He glanced at Marco for help, but the freckled boy was just as lost and confused.

Ymir put herself in front of Marco and prevented them from making eye contact. “He told me all about it, but I thought it was his asshole ex! I should have known it was you!”

“Ymir, no, it wasn’t Jean! He didn’t—”

Marco attempted an interjection, but Jean was too focused on protecting his face as Ymir tackled him to the ground. A shot of pain struck up his spine and down his rear, letting out a cry before he could hold it back. He was preoccupied with defending his face from Ymir’s hands, curled into fists and determined to make contact. When Jean tried to push away, Ymir only followed him

_ “If you were straight, who would you date?” _

_ The question, fueled by alcohol and a long-ended game of Truth or Dare, was brought up by Sasha, stretched across Connie’s lap. _

_ Marco thought of the question, shrugging after a moment. “I dunno. I never thought about it.” _

_ “Would it be any of us?” _

_ “No, probably not.” _

_ “Not even Ymir?!” Connie exclaimed. _

_ Marco laughed and shook his head. “No way. She’s basically my sister.” _

Ymir grabbed his collar and hauled him up to her level. “You know what he’s been through,” she growled. “Why would you hurt him? Why would you make him cry?!”

Jean wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but a small crowd—what was left of the party—was starting to gather around them. Marco, probably to up his chances of separating them, began sending them out the door. “I didn’t do anything,” he said, making his voice as clear as possible. A fist made quick contact with his nose, and a steady drip started to leak from his nostril.

“Tell me what you did!”

Covering his nose and wrenching his shirt free, Jean glared at her. “It wasn’t me! It was that other asshole!”

“Stop lying to me!” A pair of arms started to haul Ymir off of him, but her legs clamped down around his waist to try and keep her away. Jean shoved them off and turned over on his side, in an attempt to distance himself.

“Ymir, stop!” Marco pleaded above him. “I already told you what happened!”

“Don’t protect him!”

Jean started to stand, making sure to keep his head steady to keep the blood from gushing or getting worse, but Ymir tugged him back down. Her arms wrapped around his waist and pinned him down. They began to tussle, Jean wildly kicking and wriggling to try and keep her at bay, but she matched his intensity. Eventually, with no other options, Jean found himself fighting back. He felt his fists make contact to a shoulder or an arm, but if she was bothered by it, she certainly didn’t show him. Ymir made direct contact to his eye, and the pain trembled in reaction. Her knuckles were sharp and not afraid to pierce his body—and neither was she.

It took Sasha and Reiner to pry the two off of each other in a time that felt too long to be real. Jean felt woozy, and he realized that his drunkenness was still present, shut off or unnoticeable before. It was a scolding speech from Reiner, and some more arguing and yelling, for Jean to realize it. If he had it in him, he would have protested and spoken his piece. But his face hurt, and his hand was coated in scarlet, and he just wanted Marco to be happy.

_ “Jeez, Jean, why do you do this to yourself?” _

_ “Because Jaeger fucking sucks.” _

_ “You provoked him!” _

Jean wished it could have been Marco to take care of him and not Eren, both for his sake and for the fact that Eren looked like he was about to vomit, but Marco needed the rest. The pleasant memories of the party were clouded with absolute horror and mayhem. At least Mikasa was with them, whether to help him out or to prevent more fighting from happening.

“Doctor Jaeger, why does that arm have ladders on it and the other doesn’t?”

He could barely remember what they were talking about—he was in the bathroom, he knew that much, and Eren was instructing him on how to stop his nose bleed, while Mikasa held the ice pack on his black eye—but he knew that the parallel marks on Eren’s arm were suddenly very interesting. Somehow, they had to have a part to play in whatever conversation had been taking place.

“I’m tired,” Eren breathed out, his head hung low and his eyes darkening with irritation. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

Mikasa frowned. “How about you go lay down? I’ll make sure Jean’s okay,” she said.

“Thanks, Nurse Kasa,” Jean mumbled. His gratitude earned him a pat on the head.

Eren started to answer, something in a garbled murmur that was hard to make out as he left, but then he was screaming and rushing into the farthest corner of the bathroom. On the hardwood floor of the hallway was Trixie, the Springers’ tarantula, crawling leisurely along. Jean knew her as a “cool pet,” according to Connie, but Eren’s arachnophobia limited interactions with her. Connie didn’t mind, and the family was never offended and more than happy to accommodate for Eren’s fears. How she had gotten out was anyone’s guess; it must have been one of the guests. Mikasa was quick to scoop up the pet and take her back to her terrarium, and Jean moved over on the edge of the tub to check up on Eren.

“Hey, man, she gone,” he whispered. Eren was pressed against the wall, breathing in short puffs of air and staring at the spot Trixie had previously been, as if her memory was ghosting him into believing she was there. Jean reached out tenderly and slowly. “She went away f’rever.”

That didn’t do much. Eren slid down to the floor, his legs trembling.

“R’member where you are. In a bathroom, wi’h me. In a city. And Mikasa went to pee in another bathroom.” That was a good cover, right?

Still no reaction. Just the same pattern in breathing, the same glazed stare and trembling hands. Jean put down the solo cup on the bathroom counter to get his phone, and he pulled up a picture of his dog—his dog, he realized. He put it near Eren’s line of sight, but not directly in front of it, so that he wouldn’t scare him.

“Hey, look, Lily, she says hi.” He swiped through the other pictures. “And so does Lola. And Chico—look, he’s smiling! Isn’ that neat?”

Eren’s attention was caught on the photos of dogs, and the tension lessened. It was still present in his muscles, nearly locking them in place, but Jean was able to get a smile at the sight, and a soft laugh at the grinning pitbull.

“They’re good dogs,” Eren said.

“I know.” He flipped to the next one. “Rosa’s not a dog, but she still says hi.”

“Hi, Rosa.”

“Yeah.” Jean handed his phone over—he was on an album of dog photos anyway, and he didn’t have anything incriminating that he wanted to hide. “Here. Look through ‘em. They wanna say hi t’you.”

Eren scrolled through a few more photos, and the sight of each picture slowly eased his shoulders into a relaxed position. Jean was glad that he had been able to be of help. He was always so bad at helping friends out when they went through panic attacks, but he took a page out of their book and applied it as best he could. Plus, dogs solved everything.

“Fuck that shit,” Eren finally said, dropping the phone and leaning back against the wall. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“No, don’t say that.” Sharp green eyes glared at him, as if offended that he had suggested such a thing, but Jean was determined to help his friend. “Someone took care of her. As long as y’can’t see her, she’s never real.”

Eren didn’t answer, staring at his shoes with a grimace. Jean couldn’t get beside him, the space too small for both of them to fit, but he dropped down to his level just in case. “I fucking hate those things. Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the brown strands. “Sunny and Martin are three, and they have no problem dealing with her. Why do I have to be the exception?”

“No one minds. Spider hate is common.”

Eren glowered up at him. “Fuck you. You’re just drunk and stupid right now.”

Maybe the insult would have stung if he was less drunk, and not as tired from arguing, but it wasn’t about him. Eren was upset about something, maybe even beyond the spider, and Jean was the only person who could help him until Mikasa came back. “But it’s okay t’feel afraid ‘bout something.” He looked over his shoulder, just to make sure the spider was gone, and then leaned forward to whisper, “Plus, that thing is pretty ugly.”

Although Eren just shook his head and simpered at the comment, Jean considered it a big success. Confident that the next step would be safe, he held out his hand; Eren took it with assurance. They stayed in their positions until Mikasa came back, checking over both boys thoroughly. She made Eren drink some water and guided Jean through a rather tiring process of taking his contacts out before they were approved for bed.

There was an air mattress set up in the middle of the room, which Jean barely remembered as his living arrangement, with pillows and blankets decorating it. Sasha was in the middle of it, Ymir on one side and an empty space on the other. Jean, still feeling woozy but feeling better, planted a kiss on both Eren and Mikasa’s foreheads before he crawled beside Sasha.

“Thanks for getting th’bed ready,” he said to her. Sasha just smiled and scooted close to him.

“Get some rest, okay?” She whispered. “You need some.”

“Sure he does,” came a sharp reply on the other side of the bed. Jean peeked over Sasha to look at Ymir, but her back was to them.

“Y’know I would never porpoisely hur’ Marco,” he said. “He’s my best friend. He was gonna leave, so I made sure t’stop and help him.”

Ymir didn’t answer. Sasha pushed him down softly, telling him to go to sleep already. Jean would have gone without a fight, but his confession to Ymir brought more to the forefront of his thoughts than he would have like. He felt alone, and scared, and completely abandoned by everything around him. Existence was a separate plane for him.

“Sasha,” he mumbled, “can I…” He didn’t know how to put in the words, so he put an arm around her momentarily and took it away. Sasha’s gaze softened at the motion, and she started to turn on her side, but Ymir stopped her in order to nuzzle against her. Jean felt guilty for following suit, digging his face into his friend’s shoulder, but the arm draped over his shoulder told him that the contact was equally wanted and needed. Sasha usually slept on her side, curled in a ball, but if cuddling with friends for one night in comfort meant lying on her back, she was willing to go through with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that Puerto Rican/Latino Marco is possibly the best thing ever? Like just bury me in that AU please thank you  
> Also can confirm that I have used pictures of dogs to help my friends in times of need and it has been successful so far 12/10 would try


	7. Krista Lenz's Metamorphosis Into Historia Reiss the Troubled Moth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On one hand, Krista enjoys living and the relationships she's made, and she lives without regrets. Life is good.
> 
> On the other hand, Historia wishes that things were so much better than they actually were. There has never been anything more terrifying for her than her own happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the thing: this chapter was really hard to write. I have two sisters with bipolar disorder, and I used some of my experiences to create the dialogue for this chapter. But I am not bipolar myself, so I used [this page from Tumblr](http://legit-writing-tips.tumblr.com/post/114201870985/writing-bipolar-characters) to help guide me. It took several reads of that page for me to feel confident in this chapter, so hopefully, I did the research some justice.
> 
> Bipolar disorder is a mental illness that causes episodes of mania (i.e. "let's make a gourmet meal at 4 AM") and depression (i.e. "let's sleep for four weeks") at varying intervals. It is different for each person. It is NOT an excuse for rapid mood swings, like going from happy to sad to mad. It is defined specifically as shifts between manic and depressive moods.
> 
> If there is any confusion, or if there is anything I could change to make this chapter more accurate, please let me know!!! I am more than happy to edit it. This chapter may seem a bit scrambled at points, in terms of the perspective for Krista/Historia, but it's my attempt to represent unmedicated bipolar. And I would hate to have missed something, so please let me know if you spot anything awry!

**Historia Reiss is dead. She doesn’t exist. She was replaced by Krista Lenz. Krista Lenz is the good girl Historia could never be. Leave Historia in Vermont. Let Krista breathe.**

Krista threw back a shot and relished the burn that trickled down her throat. The party was still fairly early, though she had already lost track of all but Armin—the current supplier of her alcohol—from her main friend group. Her body was nearly trembling with raw hyper energy, and she was willing to feed it whatever it needed to sustain the manic feeling. If that meant consuming copious amounts of alcohol, so be it.

But she had to maintain some type of normal facade. With a goodbye to Armin, Krista went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the sink. It was the only alcohol that wasn’t being covered by the makeshift bar, thanks to its simplicity and ready-to-drink model. Plus, it could help send her down a woozy path of drunkenness and drown out the nagging plethora of thoughts.

**Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re fine. You’re not crazy. Do you think Carrie Fisher is crazy? Open the fucking bottle. Your group of friends would hate to have a burden like yourself. Just stop thinking and open the damn beer and get drunk already.**

_ Maybe I could go into mixology. _

Krista was thinking of ways to enhance her sudden desire in bartending when a gentle hand landed on top of hers. She looked up to find Mikasa taking the beer bottle out of her grasp and opening it with one of the nearby openers.

**How embarrassing. Didn’t you want to keep yourself away from these people? Isn’t that why you ignored their texts and calls in the first place?**

“Thanks,” Krista said with a sheepish laugh.

Mikasa offered a small smile in return. “The bottles are harder to open once they soak in ice,” she said. “You don’t usually drink beer, though.”

Krista shrugged and took a sip of her drink. Just the right sensation. Just what she needed. “I thought I’d try something new. I was starting to loiter by Armin anyway.”

The taller girl chuckled under her breath. “I’m sure he doesn’t mind the company. But you have good taste in beer, so I guess it’s not too bad.” Mikasa opened up her own bottle and clinked its rim with Krista’s before taking a sip. Silence shrouded over them, probably nothing to Mikasa but meaning everything to Krista. Her mind was racing with things to say, planning out laughs and hand gestures, detailing the right social norms that she had to follow in order to keep up a charade of normalcy—

“I think Sasha and Connie are trying to get a drinking game going. Wanna join?”

Krista nodded at Mikasa’s question and smiled, the perfect image of friendly excitement. “I’d love to!” She didn’t want to. But wild drunken antics were something she could tolerate for the moment.

Mikasa led her into the living room, but she suddenly disappeared when a group of her volleyball teammates grabbed her attention. Krista tried to follow her with her eyes, but a large arm on her shoulder brought her gaze to someone else. Sasha and Connie were nowhere to be seen, but Reiner and Bertholdt had practically flanked her.

**Fuck them and their long legs and blessedly tall bodies. How dare they treat me like I’m below them. Who even invited Zeus and Hephaestus?**

“Hey, Kris,” Reiner greeted with a grin. “Having fun?”

“I am,” she answered, putting up a wide smile. “Have you caused any trouble? It’s the best way to measure your fun.” Their relationship had never extended beyond close friends, despite a brief attempt at dating, but the flirtatious jokes never seemed to cease. People told her that if he wasn’t gay—if he was “normal”—they would have made a good-looking couple.

“He thinks he is,” Bertholdt said. Reiner nudged him with a giddy laugh, and a look of affection crossed the taller boy’s face. “Don’t hold it past him, though.”

“How dare you talk about me like I’m not even here,” Reiner stuck his tongue out. His hand lowered to grip Bertholdt’s hip and pull him close. Krista was tempted to leave them to their own devices and flirting desires, but Reiner stopped her before she could. “Hey, you’re wandering around like you’re lost. Is something on your mind?”

**Shit. You weren’t careful enough. Now they know something’s wrong. You need to watch what you’re doing.**

Krista shrugged and took a sip from her beer. “Ymir’s not around,” she said flippantly. “She pinky-promised me a Dominican Sunrise.”

A wide smirk suddenly sprouted on Reiner’s face. Bertholdt hid his expression from view, but Krista caught the curve of his lips before his face was hidden in Reiner’s shoulder. “Oh, you’re looking for Ymir?” The blond asked.

How suspicious. Ymir was one of her closest, arguably best, friends; why wouldn’t she be looking for her? “Have you seen her?”

“Maybe.” Reiner nudged Bertholdt as if he was sharing an inside joke, and the taller boy further hid his face. “I heard through the grapevine that she’s planning something.”

“Planning what?” Despite the stark height difference between them, Krista made sure to stay in his line of sight. She had lost track of Ymir a long time ago and couldn’t tell where she had gone.

Reiner shrugged, but his smile said otherwise. “I dunno. Beats me.”

Bertholdt peeked up, probably having gathered his composure to speak. “I heard it was something for you,” he added. “She wanted to do something special, I think?”

“Come on,” Krista scoffed, “there’s nothing new about that. That’s what she always does.”

“This time is different,” Reiner said. “She’s gotta talk to you about something.”

“Can’t you just tell me what she’s gonna do instead of being vague?”

There was silence on their end, and Krista was tempted to guess that they were simply stalling time to create a response. But their physical closeness—arms around his waist, one smiling shyly and the other with sly intentions—led her to backtrack through the conversation they had shared. Suddenly, the meaning of Ymir doing “something special” for her held a stronger meaning. Krista felt her face burning at what that could entail—especially if she had been avoiding her.

**This is stupid. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Ymir would never do something so bold.**

Reiner laughed loudly and patted her on the shoulder. “Kris, you know we don’t mean any harm.”

**I doubt that.**

“Why don’t you just check for yourself?” He gestured to the door that led to the basement. “It can’t get bad, can it?”

**That’s what you think.**

“I guess so,” Krista said. The hesitance in her voice wasn’t meant to leak out, but there was not much she could do to prevent it. There was something more important to focus on now.

Krista had initially formed a friendship with Ymir out of pity; she was the only one in the trumpet section who was sitting by herself. The flutes were more focused on who would be piccolos during marching season, so Krista got up and sat next to her. Something inside her pulled her to the freckled girl: she bit her nails, her hair was scraggly and untamed, her smile was more of a mischievous smirk that showed off sharp canines. She reminded Krista of the things she wanted to do but was too scared to pull off. Ymir was a reminder of what should have stayed in Vermont.

Ymir was cautious around her, but with time, she began to open up. Krista saw it every time she caught a glimpse of brown eyes staring at her. Marco and his hesitancy to go outside of his comfort zone made it easier to keep away any tension between them and was often a well-needed distraction. But Ymir kept few secrets, least of all her sexuality. She was loud and proud of many things, and if someone had the gall to reject her viewpoint, she never hesitated to lash out. Her strength was admirable to Krista, who was unable to let herself take the same route.

Krista opened the basement door and carefully went down the steps. Reiner and Bertholdt were more than happy to see her go, whispering something to each other about something she couldn’t hear. She wondered how much they were involved in Ymir’s plan, and if anyone else was in on it.

**How ridiculous. This is a waste of time. What happened to avoiding everyone? Did you finally give up on being Krista?**

The lounge chairs were pushed aside to make room for a square table. Krista recognized it as the same table that was one of many used at previous events at the Springer house, but there were only two chairs at either end. A rose tablecloth held a vase holding a single daisy and two plates on either end, both with tortilla chips around the edges and fresh dip scooped in the middle. Ymir’s signature Dominican Sunrise filled two glass flutes, decorated with an orange slice. Ymir herself was busy at a larger table, mumbling to herself and struggling with something. She must not have heard her guest come down, for she stayed focused on the item in her hand.

“What’s this about?” Krista finally said. Ymir spun around—god, she looked good—and stared at her as if she had never seen her before. Ymir was not usually a fan of typical feminine clothing, but the slim plum-colored dress she had changed into was a shocker. She only wore a dress for reserved and important occasions.

Ymir straightened up whatever she had been playing around with and turned to Krista sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come down,” she said. “Did you meet with Reiner and Bert?”

“Mikasa led me to them.” Krista stepped off of the last step and stared at the table. How long had she been setting this up? “What is all this?”

The freckled girl let out a long sigh and ignored her question. “Good. They didn’t spoil anything.” She turned back to fiddle with something, and Krista realized her hair was down, free from her usual ponytail and draped against her shoulders. It was getting long; Krista could already see some of it start to curl and curve at the end into the natural shape her friend always struggled to tame.

**What is going on?**

“You can sit down, if you want,” Ymir said over her shoulder. “I just gotta finish something.”

Watching the taller girl, Krista walked over to the chair closest to her and sat down gingerly. No matter what angle she tried, she couldn’t steal a peep at Ymir’s preparations. Keeping secrets from her, and only her, was something equally unusual to the surprise itself. Thankfully, not a short time later, Ymir stood up straight and turned around, effectively keeping her hands behind her back.

“So, uh,” Ymir began, her eyes darting to the ground, “I’ve had this planned for a while, but I figured that Sasha’s party would help me the most. So I decided to set this night up for you, because, uh…” The fear of revealing the point of her surprise was scaring her into silence. Something as trivial to Ymir as fear never made itself known. She refused to reveal such a vulnerable side to herself.

**This has to be an imposter. This can’t be Ymir. What is she doing?**

“Are you okay?” Krista asked softly.

Ymir looked up at her, and the admiration flowed from her eyes, as if bearing her soul to the smaller girl. Krista felt a jolt tremble inside her. She had seen many looks taken on by her close friend, ones ranging from happiness after a band competition to anger at the latest development of restrictive legislation. She had been involved in some flings, but amorous feelings always stayed locked up from everyone, including Krista. Marco might have known, but if he did, he never let on, and he never revealed it to anyone. There was no definitive proof that anyone knew the ins and outs of the freckled girl’s heart.

Krista suddenly suspected why she had been kept in the dark to one of the most intimate aspects of Ymir’s life. And it terrified her.

**No. She can’t. She’s not allowed to. Not for you. Never. Do something.**

“Sit down, Ymir.”

Ymir blinked, as if breaking out of a daze, and pulled her arms out in front of her. In her grasp was a headband with artificial flowers glued to the top. The flowers were intricate and layered, reminding her of roses with their weaving petal patterns. Krista had no idea what they were, but she appreciated them all the same.

“You made that?”

“Just for you.” Ymir handed over the flower crown gingerly. “Abuela and Poppy helped me pick them out.”

“What type of flowers are they?”

“Camellias.”

Krista ran a hand over one of the flowers. Even with the flimsy material, there was no mistaking that each flower was chosen deliberately for her, each position purposeful to form a pleasant display. How long had Ymir had this—the dinner, the fancy dress, the crown—in mind?

**Undeserving. How could Krista Lenz accept a gift without having anything to offer in return?**

“Ymir, I can’t accept thi—”

Ymir sat down across from her. “You can, and you will. This is important to me, dammit.” A determined glare flashed in her eyes. “I wanted to do something nice for you. I don’t expect anything in return.”

Krista sighed, accepting the decision and fully aware that nothing would break such stubbornness, and slid the headband onto her head before taking her seat. She almost felt like a princess, with how perfect her posture was and how her dress billowed against her skin. If only it wasn’t all an act.

**No. Don’t break now. Remember who you’re with.**

“Does it look okay?”

Ymir stared at her from the opposite side of the table. Her softened brown eyes bore into her, perhaps committing every detail to memory. Krista wondered if it would have felt different, having someone eye her so intensely, if it was anyone other than Ymir. For a brief moment, she felt like something precious, like someone worth more than her troubles and faults, as if there was nothing wrong with who she was. Ymir might not have known every detail about her, but she had to know enough to understand that everything was not as okay as she played it off.

When the silence strayed longer between them, and her cheeks bloomed crimson, Krista bowed her head and stifled a laugh. “I’ll take that as a good thing.”

“Good,” Ymir finally said. Krista stole a peep to see her flushing and looking away. “It is. You just caught me off-guard.”

“It happens.”

More silence. Krista dipped a chip into the salsa in the center of her plate and munched on it. The soft kick of heat danced along her tongue as a compliment to the boldness that swelled in her gut. “The salsa’s good.”

“Thanks.” Ymir nodded to the drinks, as if suddenly remembering that they were there. “And, of course, a Dominican Sunrise for my favorite customer.”

“It’s like you read my mind.” The blonde lifted her glass in a cheers and smiled. “To whatever your surprise holds.”

Ymir mimicked her, and the glasses clinked softly. The alcoholic beverage singed her throat pleasantly, adding to the warm buzz that the bitter taste of beer had contributed to.

“I heard some people were upset that you couldn’t make this for them.”

The freckled girl rolled her eyes and bit a tortilla chip. “Probably Jean. The dumbass lightweight is fucking greedy.”

Krista shrugged. “I dunno, he could just be thirsty.”

“There’s a whole room of alcohol upstairs for him. Armin will give him some, even without drunk flirting.” Ymir toyed with a bump in the tablecloth, smoothing it out with her index finger. “I was busy, anyway.”

“I heard as much.” Another sip, another crunch, in wait for something to be said, to see who would have to make the first move. “Why were you down here?”

“I had to get ready for this.” Ymir waved at the table, almost offended. It was a front—Krista saw right through it. She wanted to hide the real reason. “What, you think I was gonna let this look like some sort of dingy dive bar?”

“You wore your best and only dress to do it though?”

Ymir scowled. Her plan was foiled before she had a chance to deflect it. Krista nearly laughed at the pout. “Maybe my other clothes got dirty. You have no proof of anything.”

“I know that you told Reiner and Bert about something special that you were planning,” Krista leaned forward, fluttering her eyelashes, “all for me.”

“If I did it upstairs, everyone would have been crowding around us and being all noisy and shit.”

“You could have gone outside.”

“Still noisy, but more gross, and Spike would have taken all of your attention away.” Ymir flicked a balled-up napkin at her, though her lips were starting to pull up in a soft smile. “You can’t catch me!”

With a dramatic sigh, Krista fell back in her chair and rolled her eyes with a wide grin. “I suppose you’re right. My only choice now is to wait for you to tell me, for however long it takes.”

Ymir snorted past her glass. “It might take a while.”

“I don’t mind the wait. It’s obviously important to you, and that makes waiting worth it.”

The answer was not what was expected. Ymir nearly choked on her Sunrise, eyes wide and face unbearably red. She refused to lift her head even the slightest bit, letting her hair hang down to shroud her face. What was she embarrassed for?

“Ymir?” Krista reached out tenderly, but she pulled back before she made contact. The last thing she wanted was to startle the freckled girl. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to get you some water?”

“No, I’m fine.” Ymir had turned around in her seat, and her hands found purchase in her hair. Squeezing the loose strands seemed to calm her down. “I just—shit, Kris,” she let out an ugly bark of a laugh, shaking her head, “you make me feel a lot of things. It’s overwhelming.”

**Ignore the name. It doesn’t bother you.**

Krista forced herself to disregard the sting from the nickname and shifted in her seat. “Oh. Well, um…” She chose her words carefully, cautious not to cause trouble. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

The brunette scoffed. “Nothing. I don’t want you to stop.”

“But, I feel bad—”

“You don’t have to.” Ymir sat up and took a deep breath. “It’s stupid to feel like this for someone when we have our entire lives ahead of us. But what am I supposed to do, ignore it?”

“You should talk about it.” Krista closed the distance between them by scooting her chair forward and patted the top of her hand. “It can’t be good to keep those things inside.”

**You’re one to talk.**

Ymir hesitated for a minute, tracing the pattern on the tablecloth as if to distract herself from what she was about to say. Or maybe it was to play down what she wanted to say. “I dunno, Krista. Every time I look at you, or talk with you, or I’m just around you, my gut clenches. I want to be with you in an intimate, lovey-dovey way—it’s fucking disgusting. And I wanna show you off to all those sons of bitches who thought we were so cool once we became drum majors. I wanna spin with you under the stars until we get dizzy and fall.” Ymir bowed her head and laughed quietly. “I sound like a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

Krista offered a smile. “I like Nicholas Sparks.”

The soft smile she was presented with practically melted her insides. Although she joked around that she was the pretty one of her friends, Krista saw an untapped beauty within Ymir that was beyond whatever anyone had. “He makes you cry.”

“A lot of things do.”  **Family, your real identity, whatever’s been going on in your head for the past week—** “But I can’t think of a time where you have. So you’re in the clear.” She held out her hand, and it was quickly taken in a freckled grip. “Tell me more, Ymir.”

Ymir took a deep breath. Krista waited patiently, reminding herself of the difficulty to reveal such vulnerability to someone. Her patience, of course, paid off. “I wanna take you out on cheesy dates and slow dance in the rain. I wanna adopt a thousand cats and dogs and people-watch in cafes and do that swinging arm thing that people do when they’re walking down the street and they’re happy. I want to see the world with you, for all the good and bad that we have.” Ymir tightened her grasp, and she gently brought Krista’s hand up for a kiss before taking her other one. “I know I’m a terrible person. But I don’t always mean to be. It’s easier to shove people away than to let them in. And no one ever got close until I realized how I felt for you.”

**That’s it.**

Krista could almost feel the metaphorical string snapping. An intense wave of regrets washed over her and pinned her heart in place. Her hands trembled with the realization of her situation. Ymir poured her heart out, whether aided by alcohol or from revealing her strength or both, and was probably not done with her romantic tirade. And she did it to someone who was not what she seemed.

Krista Lenz was not real.

Krista Lenz was an attempt for Historia Reiss to bury her reality away and craft an imaginary persona where everything went her way. Historia had a family that didn’t care for her choices. She was far away from the comfort of northeastern weather, with no bloodlines to love her and a brain with an alleged imbalance that was shifting her moods and taking away whatever control she might have had over the precious oasis of her reality.

It was time to accept the truth. Ymir had done so with all her effort, and yet it still looked flawless. What made her any different? Why should she hold back from the girl who meant so much to her—a girl who suddenly didn’t deserve her? Ymir had always been good at being brave, for doing what the blonde was too afraid of. She needed to say something; Ymir didn’t deserve to wait on her.

Historia sat up straight and cleared her throat. The words jumbled in her throat, as if squeezing it shut. Maybe the alcohol was a bad idea. “I know how you feel, because…I feel the same way for you. But I don’t think you’re in love with the right person.”

Ymir, who initially looked fearful of the strong emotion uttered in her statement, scoffed at her and fixed her with a puzzled gaze. “Why, because Krista isn’t your real name?” Substitute teachers never could get it right. Thankfully, their friends had figured out quickly that questions were better left unasked. “Are you a Martian or something?”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. Maybe it could help ease her anxiety. “It feels that way sometimes. I’m still Historia Reiss from Vermont.” Ymir’s eyebrows shot up at hearing her real name without a self-inflicted bitter tone, but she stayed quiet. “But the only reason why my family is down here is because of the affair my mother had with my father that brought me into this world.”

“Is that it?”

“My parents kicked me out after graduation.”

“Krista—I mean—”

She held up her hand to silence the expected protests. “I didn’t tell anyone, because I don’t want to burden any of you.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Mike has a free basement, now that Nanaba and Rene got their own place. But that’s not all. I…” One deep breath, a gaze at their entwined hands to solidify her, helped rearrange what she wanted to say. “Do you remember Frieda, my sister?”

Ymir nodded cautiously. “I think so, yeah. Why is that important?”

“Because she has bipolar. And my parents think I might have it, because our dad has family members with it, and they refuse to help me with a screening, and—”

“Historia, why does this matter?” Ymir’s hands slid out of hers. “Those labels are meaningless. I didn’t care before you told me, and I don’t care now. That’s not what I like about you.”

“But you’re not supposed to like me—for  _ any _ reason.”

“Who told you that?”

“How could you not see it? My parents cut me off, I might be crazy, I’ve been hiding things from everyone I know so that no one will get attached, which means that no one will ever be able to love me—”

“Snap out of it!” Ymir gripped her shoulders and steadied her back to reality. Historia didn’t realize she was trembling until she looked at her hands. The mania had been coursing through her for the past few days; if she was sliding down into an episode lower than manic, thinking with a clear mind was only going to get harder. “Historia, there is nothing you can do that will convince me that you are unworthy of attention. I can only speak for myself, when I say something like that, but anyone else who cares about you won’t reject you like your family did.” Ymir took a deep breath; Historia held hers. “You can think I don’t know you as Historia, and you can say that you don’t deserve anyone. But you’re wrong. You’ve never gotten a chance to live your life. So cut your fucking bullshit and own up to the fact that you have never done anything for yourself.”

The words stung in her chest like a knife; who was she to tell her how she was living? Historia had only used the name Krista to hide her real identity because it was too painful to address. She was always acting for herself, in a way that was disgustingly selfish and had already started to corrupt the pure image of Krista in her head. “But I have been living for myself. I didn’t want to go by Historia, because that part of my life has been too painful.”

“You’ve been living a lie! I’ve known Krista Lenz for three and a half years. Everyone upstairs has only known Krista Lenz. At most, we knew not to ask about Historia, because it was a touchy subject. And for god’s sake, Historia,” Ymir made extra sure that she was making eye contact, “your mental health has always been a concern. Everyone’s is. It was a concern when Bert wore jackets in eighty-degree weather, it was a concern when Jean wasn’t eating regularly—when we met Armin and Sasha, they could barely talk to us, they were so anxious. We’re used to worrying about each other, whether we say anything or not. You were never out of the spotlight.”

Historia scoffed. “I haven’t even told you everything. There’s more than just that, Ymir.”

“I never asked you to. You can assume all you want, but for once, I’m not doing this for myself. I genuinely believe that you deserve good things. If you can look at me and tell me that you’ve always been living for yourself in a way that makes you—and  _ only _ you—happy, then I’ll take everything back.”

The statement was shocking, not just because of Ymir’s threat—the girl hardly took back anything she said, let alone apologize in sincerity. Historia wanted to prove Ymir wrong, but as she mulled over the past few weeks and months and years, she couldn’t find an instance of making a decision in honor of her happiness. There were no excuses; she had forced herself to forget how to make herself happy. When was the last time she had done something for her own happiness anyway? She didn’t want to leave Vermont, she was reluctant to join marching band, and all the money in the world was an impossible source of happiness for her.

She was a disappointment. What a failure she had turned out to be. Being Historia was so much duller and darker, she had nearly forgotten.

“If you have bipolar,” Ymir started, breaking the silence, “then you need to get tested and medicated as soon as possible.”

“I know,” Historia said, her voice wispy and distant.

“I can ask my parents if you can stay with us. They’d be more than happy to help you.”

“Okay.”

“And when we go to college, if you need anything—”

“Ymir, are you trying to live for me before yourself?”

Taken aback by the accusation, Ymir blinked wildly and then fixed her with a glare. “I’m offering to help you. Everyone wants to make jokes about how selfish I am, but I can’t do something for someone else because it’s suspicious?”

“You’re not doing it to help me. You’re doing it to control me.”

“…what are you talking ab—”

Historia jumped up from her seat, not sure where she was going with her speech, but confident that what she was about to do was the wrong way to go. “You say how I should be living for myself, but you’re trying to take over how I live my life. I know what I have to do. I didn’t ask for your advice.”

Ymir held her hands up in front of her. “Okay, I get it, Historia. I’ll back off. You don’t want my help.”

“Don’t play that game with me! You don’t understand what I’ve been through! There’s no one who can help me!”

Now Ymir looked concerned. She leaned forward slightly in her chair and talked in a whisper. “I’m trying to understand. You just bit my head off for trying to help, remember?”

Historia’s laugh was a cruel bark, and she backed away from the table. “Don’t think you can play with me like that. You may love me, but that doesn’t mean you can help me. It hasn’t worked before, and it won’t work now, so find someone else to ogle at! Move on and leave me alone!”

With a quick turn and a huff, Historia stormed up the stairs in a flurry of anger, using the banister to pull herself up the stairs faster. She didn’t hear anyone behind her, though she doubted Ymir would follow her. The outburst would likely keep her stunned for a bit.

And what an outburst. What did she say? What was she trying to do? Of their friend group, Ymir was the one who saw through her bullshit the most. And she just pushed that girl away.

Historia considered going back, once she reached the top of the stairs and shut the basement door, but decided against it. It would be too embarrassing to face her now. She would wait until the morning. Maybe luck would turn in her favor and have Ymir forget everything. That would certainly be the better option.

The closing of a bathroom door caught her out of her daydream. Historia noticed the diminishing crowd of people, though there were still a good number of partygoers having a good time. She couldn’t see any familiar faces—except for a visibly shaken Marco on the couch, a dazed look in his eyes and a solo cup that refused to stop shaking, but that was all she could see. Where was the host?

His bedroom door was open. Historia peeked inside before stepping fully in the door frame. Connie was on his bed, legs splayed out and pants zipper undone, his boxers peeking out just enough to allude to what he had done. His head was bowed, though the sniffles and droplets that dribbled down his cheeks revealed a sadder circumstance. Maybe the alcohol had clouded his brain a bit too much—Connie was not known for holding his liquor down—but the room itself felt taut with tension. His brow was creased with concern, and a small tremor shook through his hands every time he raised them to smear a water track away.

“Connie?” Historia called out softly. She was speaking before she could stop herself.

Almost instantly, like a fired arrow from a bow, Connie’s head shot up. The tension in his body flowed out of him with a shaking sigh. The tears that had dampened his face were heartwrenching. “Krista. Hi.” With a sniffle and a wipe under his nose, his troubles started to spew from his mouth. “Me and Sasha, we were, um, busy, hanging out, and then we got in each other’s face, a-and we, uh—”

“My name’s not Krista.” Her interruption shook the sorrow from his face momentarily and was replaced with shock. It reminded her, quite quickly, that there was a problem far from her own, and she was ignoring it.  _ Take advantage of this moment while you can. _ “What happened with you and Sasha?”

Almost as if he was remembering what was wrong, Connie shuddered. “We were kissing a lot. And we ran a few bases, I guess? I-I don’t really remember, I think we were drunk. I think I’m still drunk.”

Historia slipped into the room and shut the door to give them some privacy. “That’s okay. Do you feel sick? Do you need water?”

Connie shook his head, but the motion made him sway in his bed. Historia quickly maneuvered herself next to him and caught his head on her shoulder. The direct contact to bone made her wince, but she ignored it. Help for someone else, with a problem that was much more important than hers, would get all of her attention.

Anything to keep her own issues away. “What else do you remember?”

The boy shifted against her, curling up into her side and slumping against her. She reached an arm around his shoulder to hold him close. “I remember kissing and making cute noises for her, and she started making some really cute noises, and then she jumped off the bed like something burned her. Like she realized what she had done.” Connie sniffed again, this time sounding more clogged. “I never thought I would gross her out so much. She’s been my best friend for so long. What did I do wrong?” He sat up straight and stared right into her eyes, and his gaze nearly broke her apart. “Historia, what did I do wrong?”

Connie collapsed against her, sobbing without stop and trembling in her arms. He was truly heartbroken by whatever had happened between him and Sasha—Historia could connect the dots enough to know that they had stumbled, if not trampled, down the road of romance together before wrecking it completely. It was familiar enough for Historia to dedicate her time to wrenching Connie away from it all.

She rubbed the top of Connie’s head soothingly, pulling her arms tighter around him. It was a tactic familiar to her, to help someone feel grounded in the person they had confided in. Hopefully, she could make it work for him the same way it had worked for her. Connie was a sweet boy, goofy and always wanting to share his smile, as long as it hid the worries of his parents’ immigration status or the well-being of his younger siblings. At that current moment, he had simply had one drink too many to clear the innuendo-filled air between him and Sasha. The attempt, of course, was futile.

“Hey, Con, it’ll be okay,” Historia whispered. His cries had withered down to whimpers, but she suspected another wave of sorrow coming around. “Take deep breaths. You just need time apart.”

“But I don’t wanna be apart. I wanna be together.”

Oh Connie. “You’ve been drinking and partying all night. If you were sober, you two would be able to talk about it, but right now, you can’t rely on words to say what you mean.” Silence. A short sniffle, almost stubbornly. “It’s just bad timing. You need to rest and see how you feel in the morning before you two talk.”

There was a short pause, the steadying of ragged breathing, and then a remark that cut through her easily, as if she was made of butter. “You sound like you have experience with this.”

Historia forced her body to relax and not tense up in reaction. The last thing she needed was for Connie to realize that something had happened to her. “You’re not the only one who’s had relationship problems.”

“You had them tonight?”

She didn’t answer. There was no point; he had already connected the dots, whether he was aware of it or not, and concluded what she had wanted to avoid. Even if he had a reputation of being slightly dopey and constantly goofy, he had moments of exceptional sharpness—and to think that he had been drunk-crying just minutes before. Maybe the thought of a friend needing his help was sobering him up a little.

“Don’t worry,” Connie said, sitting up enough to look at her but keeping his arms around her waist, “I won’t tell anyone.”

There was no way she could push him away; he always meant well. Historia smiled at him. “Thanks, Connie, but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet.” That should be enough to politely keep her problems—whatever they were, because she  _ refused _ to recount them—away from the limelight.

Connie nodded at that, either too tired from talking or too drunk to pursue it, and snuggled back against her. Historia was grateful that he hadn’t questioned it, but she knew that there would be suspicions in the morning once everyone had sobered up and had the time to sleep on the night. And that was without considering what the other girl would say—Marco would find out, for sure, maybe Jean by default, and Reiner might figure out how to get it out of her. That alone had Bertholdt and Annie added to the equation, and while Bert was good with keeping secrets, Annie had Armin and Mina to talk to, which only increased the circle of knowledge by a wide margin.

Everything was circumstantial. Maybe the other girl would stay silent and not tell anyone about what happened. If she could read between the lines and see that there was a problem bigger than all of them, then certainly, she would let Historia do the talking. But her anger could cloud her judgement, and her inexperience with someone whose possibility of being diagnosed with bipolar disorder had suddenly skyrocketed was sure to show.

“I think you should take your own advice.”

Historia snapped her head up as Connie straightened up. He eyed the rabbit cage on the other side of the room, where Benjamin III was nibbling on a piece of grass. “What?”

Connie curled his knees up to his chest and squeezed his ankles. “It just sounded like something was on your mind.”

“It’s…” Complicated was what she wanted to say: it suited the situation and added an underlying notion that she didn’t want to talk about it. But the familiar racing thoughts in her head directed her to a response less expected. “Nothing. It’s been a long night. You should go to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“I haven’t checked in a while. Want me to get some water to cool down?”

“That would be nice.” Historia stood up to get a drink for him, and possibly something for herself, but a shaky hand stopped her from getting up. It sent a pang of sadness through her heart. “Tori. Can you promise me something?”

The question held too much commitment within its depths for her to completely sign off on it. But she had offered to help him with whatever his problem may have been, so she forced her defiance back. “What do you need?”

“I want you to remember to take care of yourself.” He stole a shy glance up at her. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I hope it goes away soon.”

She might not have been keeping her emotions in check like she thought, but the comment was still pleasant to hear. Maybe it was only that way because it was coming from Connie, who absolutely hated seeing his friends going through a rough patch. She couldn’t tell, and she didn’t quite want to either. Even if she wanted to keep her problems out of the spotlight, there was something in her that was still relieved for the comforting words. “Thank you, Connie. I hope the same thing for you.”

Historia left the door open at Connie’s request—it was still a house party at his home, and he wanted to keep an ear out in case anything went wrong—and headed for the kitchen. The crowd had diminished considerably, containing some of Mikasa’s volleyball teammates and a few band kids. She didn’t see Marco, but Jean was downing a bottle of some type of liquor like he needed it to survive. She shared the sentiment. She made sure to grab another bottle of beer and a half-empty bottle of tequila, something with a burn that could distract her, before she got a water bottle.

When she returned to Connie’s bedroom, it was empty. Historia was tempted to go out looking for him, but she quickly forgot when she opened up the tequila and took the first biting sip. She let the water stay on the bedside table, in case Connie came back. Maybe Sasha had come by to explain things, though she highly doubted it—and hoped against whoever listened that it didn’t come true. It was the only shield from Ymir.

Oh well. Alcohol provided a better defense anyway.

Historia finished off the tequila while strutting around the bedroom. The bed tucked against the wall enforced the smell of sex, but there were an interesting array of movie posters on his wall. Sci-fi, thriller, comedy, drama—since when had he seen  _ that _ film? There were a few paintings from Sunny and Martin pinned to the wall as well: one depicted Connie standing next to Spike, with the Great Dane standing taller than their brother, and one with the whole family, pets included.

Speaking of pets, Benjamin III rustled around in his cage when Historia stepped closer. He had been mostly quiet, presumably sleeping, throughout her time in the room. The lop-eared rabbit was eyeing her from his perch atop his orange igloo hideout, a stray piece of grain sticking out of his mouth. He was too precious; how Connie managed to keep him in here, she would never understand. Kudos to him for pulling it off.

“Hello, Benny,” she whispered to him. She reached out her free hand just at the cage door, to let him know what she was doing. He didn’t react much to her closer presence, except for one wiggle of his nose in her direction. How cute. “Do you want a few pets?”

There was shouting from the hallway—Connie, for sure, and Sasha, unfortunately—that startled both herself and Benjamin. Historia peeked out to see the two standing in the living room, but she dove back when she saw Ymir stomp across the room. A few seconds later, there was the sounds of a scuffle, and Marco begging Ymir to get off of Jean. She couldn’t hear much else, thanks to the argument taking place between Sasha and Connie.

“You told me you wanted to date your best friend!” Connie shouted. Historia could barely remember the last time he had yelled, in anger, at one of his friends. “You said it was the thing you wanted most when you date someone, because companionship is the most important thing they could give you.”

“I never said that!” Sasha shot back.

“Yes, you did! Stop acting like nothing happened, Sash! It’s okay to be afraid!”

“How do you know how I’m feeling?!”

An intense rustle of feathers flew overhead, and Historia glanced up to find Cheryl—although she couldn’t see the bird’s eyes, she was much more extroverted than her brother, and the feathers in her wings had more yellow in them—soaring around the room. The two fights were oblivious to this new outcome, but Marco noticed it with wide eyes. The flyby was at least enough motivation to get the rest of the party out of the house and the front door shut. Historia heard two more people coming behind her, and she turned to look at Mikasa and Eren. Their expressions told her that they were the ones responsible for letting the bird out—and allowing the other, Prince Harry, to walk out into the hallway behind them.

Historia didn’t listen to what Eren or Mikasa were saying, though she heard them exchange words with each other. Their looks of surprise and terrified awe—more on Mikasa’s end than her brother’s—was enough insight into their heads. She waited until Prince Harry was in front of them to scoop him up, letting the tequila bottle drop to the floor. She held the cockatoo’s wings down against his side; Connie’s miniature lessons on handling the birds was coming into use.

“You get Cheryl,” she ordered firmly to the—much more relieved—siblings. “I’ll watch him.”

Prince Harry wasn’t very bothered by the grip around him. He greeted Historia with a “hello” and a small bob of his head. Eren and Mikasa were quick to follow her orders and attempt to catch Cheryl. Historia didn’t stay around to watch what or how they were doing. She brought Prince Harry back into the bird room and shut the door.

“What did you get yourself into?” She let him waddle up her arm and nuzzle into her hair, as if he was trying to make a nest for himself. He made a few clicks in her ear and eyed her with his big eyes. “Cheryl’s supposed to be the troublemaker.”

“Cheryl!” He chirped. Historia felt bad for scolding him, if he was going to be that cute, but she still led him to his cage and placed him back in. Prince Harry scooted onto his perch and shook his feathers, uttering his sister’s name a few more times for good measure.

Not a minute later, Mikasa entered the room with Cheryl held down in her grasp. The bird wasn’t fighting back, but she was squawking in protest and craning her neck. She repeated “free, free!” with each step Mikasa took, and she kept at it until she was put back in the cage. Historia quickly shut the door and locked it while Mikasa checked for other possible exits. Cheryl uttered a final “oh” as Prince Harry waddled over to her and cozied up against her. His presence urged her to finally rest.

Mikasa glared at the cage. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I forgot to close it.”

“That’s not like you,” Historia said, almost teasing with the sting.

Gray eyes focused on her. “And you’re drunk.”

She snorted at the taller girl. Who was she to get in her business? “So what? What do you care?”

“You’re swaying.”

“Let me live my life!” Historia tried to shove her away, but she misjudged the distance and stumbled. Mikasa caught her before she could hit the ground.

“Krista—”

“That’s not my name. Shut up.”

“Fine. Historia. You need to drink some water.”

“You need to get off my ass.” Historia wrenched herself away. “I’m not even that drunk. I’m bipolar.”

She didn’t let Mikasa respond and went back to the living room to give Ymir a piece of her mind. Thankfully, Mikasa didn’t provoke her, but Reiner was another story. Historia hadn’t expected a full-on nagging lecture, but she still found herself caught in its trap. She had her own mental health to deal with, and that was enough trouble on its own. The last thing she needed was someone else’s scolding.

She couldn’t remember how long the talking lasted, but Historia found herself in Connie’s bedroom. A new pair of sheets adorned the bed, and Connie was rearranging some things. Historia simply stood and watched as he made room for both of them. The warmth in her arms was coming from Benjamin III, and she cuddled him gently when she realized who she was holding. Her head hurt, her heart panged, her stomach churned, and she wanted to melt into the floorboards and never come back. If only.

If only.

Connie let her hold the rabbit for a little while longer, but only if she sat on the bed and rested. She agreed, though her voice sounded distant and plain. Once she was sat down, she let Benjamin III hop onto the freshly-made bed and explore the new surface. Connie petted the side of his face softly, as if he was made of glass.

“Are you okay?” She asked. Her most recent memories led her to believe that Reiner’s talk had shaken him up. At least he didn’t jump when she spoke.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be fine.” He gazed up at her, sadly, perhaps remembering what she had gone through. “Are you okay?”

Historia nodded.

Connie faltered slightly. “You’re crying.”

She didn’t know what to say. The dampness on her cheeks startled her, but she couldn’t do anything but accept it. It felt good. It felt right, in that moment, to let herself break down and rest. After a night of keeping up with an episode of mania, she just wanted to let go and see what would happen.

Historia nodded. And then she broke down in wracking sobs, partially muffled by Connie’s shoulder, without anything to stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna note that the bold parts are still Historia's thoughts, but they're more influenced by her bipolar.
> 
> Also! Please note that Historia, as Krista, ignored her mental health, just like she suppressed her identity as Historia. It's not until she accepted who she was and abandoned Krista that she, in turn, accepted her bipolar disorder, which in turn removed the bolded thoughts. Just a little writing trick I wanted to share ;)
> 
> Anyway Ymir's gay pass it on


	8. 25 Reaasons Why Sasha Braus Likes Connie Springer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's got twenty-five reasons and Connie Springer is all of them. Oh boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you buds this chapter was ruff. I restarted this chapter SO MANY TIMES because it never felt right, and then I had to come up with the twenty-five reasons. AND THEN I had to face the real struggle of this chapter—the Straight Smut—because I cannot remember the last time I wrote Straight Smut, and I had to ask one of my closest friends/roommate hollandlovely on Tumblr for advice and it was a doozy. But alas! It is here!
> 
> Also, just wanna point out that Annie, Eren, and Jean have chapters 4, 5, and 6 respectively, and Connie has eight, and I think it's super funny since I did not plan it that way but what can you do
> 
> Anyway enjoy this fun, super long, drawn out chapter of a rollercoaster

“Friends. Loyal brethren. Muses. Lend me your ears!”

Reason number fourteen why Sasha liked Connie: he was goofy. He was a conglomerate of hand gestures that were overdone while he strung words together to form sentences that were entirely exaggerated. Sasha liked to joke that it was compensation for his height, though she knew that wasn’t the case. He just wanted to see people smile.

Connie was stood on the coffee table, his arms waving in front of him as he addressed the crowd. He and Sasha had been guarding the door—quite diligently, if she said so herself—but now it was time to party. No more playing guard dog; there was alcohol to drink.

“It has been a month since our last days in smelly auditoriums and clustered classrooms,” he stated. A rumble of agreement swept across the room. “Since dreaded pep rallies and hallways filled with people you never want to see again. Since you made out with that one kid under the stairs or lost your virginity in the art hallway—everyone knows who you are.” More laughter, and Connie’s face split into an expression of absolute glee.

The third reason Sasha liked Connie: his smile. It spread across his face at every sign of joy, unabashed and refusing to shy away. He made an effort to always be smiling because it was the difference between making someone’s day and ignoring the passersby wishing for one good thing to happen. And he never forced it; his smile was as natural as breathing. Maybe it was seen as a weakness to others, but Sasha saw no fault in it.

In fact, there were very few, if any, faults in Connie.

Sasha broke out of her dazed thoughts when the toast was given. Those with drinks raised their cups; from her left, Jean performed a halfhearted offer before sipping his drink. He was considerably tenser than usual. Sasha joined in the toast with the rest of the party, and when Connie pushed through the crowd and popped up beside her, she embraced him warmly.

“That toast was beautiful!” She exclaimed. She had only heard the beginning; she was more distracted by Connie himself.

Connie flushed and squeezed his arms around her. “Was it too short? I didn’t wanna take any time away from partying, but I wanted to make it special for them.”

Reason number eight: he genuinely cared about others. His heart was bigger than his big round head. (That was number ten on Sasha’s list.)

“I thought it was spectacular,” Sasha declared. She backed away so she could grab either side of his face. “Absolutely amazing.”

“It was alright,” Jean mumbled.

“Shut up, mopey.”

Jean frowned at her insult, but Sasha shot him a side-eye powerful enough to shut him up. She would deal with him in a minute.

“Thanks, Sash,” Connie grinned. He met Sasha one last time in an embrace before hopping back. “Want me to grab some Jell-O shots for the crew? That toast made me break out into a sweat.”

“Sure!” Sasha might have looked a bit too eager to get him away, but she hoped it passed off as excitement for their drinks and not to push him as far away as possible. When Connie disappeared to grab their drinks, she turned to Jean with a hardened stare. He did not look pleased to have her attention so harshly drawn onto him. “Do you wanna talk about what’s eating you?”

Sasha was confident in her relationship with Jean. They understood each other on a level that no one else could; both from the northeastern part of the country, they found solace in the other’s background and character. When Sasha missed home, Jean provided a shoulder to lean on; if Jean needed a dose of positivity, Sasha knew what music to play. Their ability to read the other was admirable and certainly treasured.

Although at that moment, Sasha was anything but thankful for their friendship. Jean shrugged almost mockingly at her. “I don’t know, this bear’s been munching on my ass for a while—”

“You know what I meant.”

He rolled his eyes and took a large gulp of his drink. “You can answer that on your own.”

Not the response she was looking for, but Sasha dealt with it. She could already put the pieces together: his eyes had barely left Marco since preparations for the party had begun. Now, the freckled boy was nowhere to be found, probably conversing with band friends or preventing a fight between Ymir and Reiner.

“Give him a few minutes,” Sasha suggested. “There’s more to his social group than us.” She patted his shoulder, equally affectionate and reassuring of the anxiety she knew was welling up inside him. “And how could he ever forget you?”

The slightest quirk of his lips was enough of an answer for Sasha. And the alcohol delivered from Connie certainly helped as well. Despite her encouragement, Jean’s mood barely progressed, growing more distracted with the less Marco appeared. His responses to their quips were half-hearted until he excused himself and, rather tipsily, sauntered off to find Marco. Or wallow in pity and loathing.

“He’s so down on himself,” Connie frowned. “Why can’t he give himself a break?”

Sasha shrugged. “Jean is an enema.”

“But you know him best!”

“Nooo,” she waved at him for his ridiculous suggestion, “that’s Marco!”

“Well, you’re next in line.” Connie nearly dropped his drink but caught it in time to sip it coolly. “It’s like you share a mind with Jean.”

Sasha leaned forward to catch his gaze and smirked. Was that jealousy she heard in his voice? “Oh really? Tell me more, Con. How close are we?”

Connie pursed his lips in a pout—number six on Sasha’s list of reasons for liking him. He was already an emotional person by nature, and he expressed it in little ways. His movements were fluid, like his instantaneous dancing—number sixteen—or his leaps of excitement off couch cushions. But he wore a special pout, a purse of his lips and a puff of his cheeks, when things were particularly unfair that made Sasha’s stomach churn. It wasn’t entirely serious—Connie never could be, anyway—but the connotation behind it was precious.

Sasha stuck her tongue out at him when he didn’t answer, and he stubbornly bumped his hip into hers. Their playful banter was starting to evolve with a deeper undertone, a hidden jab at what could be and what might not ever happen.

“I’m not falling into your trap,” Connie said.

Sasha batted her eyes. “What trap?” She inquired, lowering her voice as she leaned closer to him. “I’m just having a conversation with my friend.”

The word stung—and maybe, if she thought hard about it, it hurt to hear just as much as it did to say. But Sasha hoped it was taken as a taunt. She could see herself being beyond friends with Connie. There was the possibility of something more blooming between them. How it happened, she couldn’t possibly predict. All she could do was hope that it happened without her influence.

Connie stepped closer to her. Their chests were practically flushed together; if she stepped forward just a bit more, his breaths would resonate against her. There was a bit more curve to her body than his, without the consideration of their height difference. One shift and there would be real, burning, desirable contact.

“Your conversation sucks,” he said. He practically whispered it, lips soft and full around the words. They probably tasted nice, like chilled Dr. Pepper. Sasha shuddered at the thought.

“You’re no better,” Sasha teased back. If she swayed one more time, her breasts would collide with his chin. “You never answered my question.”

“What was it again? It was so boring, I forgot.”

Sasha shoved his shoulder and laughed. He beamed up at her—there it was again, number three—and giggled into his cup. “Shut up! I don’t wanna talk to you anymore.”

“Talk.” Connie mimicked her accent, focusing on the drawn-out vowel that was customary for Yankees. He wasn’t mocking her—he never judged people, as proven in number twenty on her list of things she liked about him, especially when it involved accents. His parents, his father from Great Britain and his mother from India, both spotted thick styles of speaking that were not native to the States. Connie never judged her for the way she spoke or teased her like the others in her friend group; he never asked her to repeat words like “dog” or “coffee.” Jean was an exception, because he shared her accent. Connie was the other, because he wanted to hear her voice.

“You got something to say?” Sasha asked him. She tilted her head to emphasize her point, making sure her ponytail shifted perfectly in time with her movements. She hoped it was as irresistible as she was making it.

Connie audibly gulped—his face blanched for a quick second—and then he was reaching over and lightly pulling on her wrist. He wanted to go somewhere. He wanted to lead her away from the middle of the party to another place. Maybe more secret?

Sasha was suddenly terrified of the things they would do if they were left alone.

She let herself be pulled over to the kitchen—good, far from his room—but she tripped and fell against the wall. When she stumbled, she pulled Connie with her, and he fell into her. His ear was practically over her heartbeat. She wondered if he could hear it bumping.

Connie straightened up, his arms pushing against the wall behind her, but he reeled back as soon as he saw that he had trapped her. He was just as scared of what they could do as she was. It was almost comforting.

“Oops,” Sasha said. She added a shy giggle to lessen the tension between them. Connie joining in with her laugh made it better. And not just because he had a rather nice laugh—it was number two on her list for a reason—but because it showed that nothing was going to happen between them.

“You should learn how to walk,” Connie pointed out. Sasha snorted and nudged his shoulder. “Maybe you’ll stop falling all the time.”

Sasha rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I only fell once, give me a break.”

“Your counting’s off!” Connie held out his hand and waved four fingers. “I can recall four whole times.”

“Can you now?”

“Yes!”

“Were you watching me?”

Connie fell silent. He bowed his head, almost in shame, for being found out. He looked too scared to say anything else. Number twenty-three of the reasons to like him: despite his loud and goofy exterior, he proved to be soft and shy on the inside.

“I was watching out _for_ you,” he mumbled, fumbling with his hands. “Because I didn’t want you to get hurt. Sometimes, you walk too quickly, y’know? And your feet get ahead of you.”

Oh. Sasha hadn’t realized he was so observant. But the wording sounded a little too familiar. She had talked to someone else about that same topic. “Did Jean tell you that?”

Connie’s eyes widened, revealing the wide range of emotions swirling inside—number twenty-one. When he got too shy for words, his eyes took up the duty of expressing his thoughts and inner monologue. Number thirteen was reserved for the color of his eyes—a tint of light brown, swirling with chocolate flecks. The affection she felt for him was overwhelmingly sweet.

Sasha looked down at her hands, wringing together as much as he had. “I watch out for you too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. You’re so short, I don’t want you to get hurt.” Number five. It was more than a joking matter; he was short, and skinny, and not white. Their group of friends made it a priority to limit the amount of bullying, whether he picked up on it or not, that came his way.

Connie laughed, as if it was a joke, but Sasha kept her expression neutral. She wasn’t trying to mess around. He caught onto that, as told by the hanging of his head and the scuffle of his feet. What was he thinking?

“I, um…” Sasha took a deep breath to steady herself. “Did that sound mean?”

His head shot up. “What? No, Sash, not at all. I just…got surprised.” He shrugged his shoulder, shyly looking up at her—did that actually happen—before averting his gaze. “I don’t want you to get hurt either. Because sometimes people scare you, and anxiety can be hard to deal with sometimes, and you’re a good person who doesn’t deserve that.”

Sasha couldn’t breathe. It felt like his words were wrapping around her, cutting off her air supply and crushing her bones. This moment felt far different from previous moments with Connie, where they shared their care and worries and concern without hesitation. In those moments, they addressed each other upfront as friends. Something had broken the air between them and filled it with a foreign tension that had not been experienced by them before, but had been a sight with their friends.

Their friendship no longer relied on questions. They read each other too well to ask for a hug or some space in stressful times. They just did it. And Sasha was glad that Connie was reaching for her when she wrapped her arms over his shoulders. Neither of them knew what was going on, and it was comforting to be aware of the equal confusion between them.

Number twelve of her reasons for liking Connie: his hugs. They were safe, they were warm, they were dividers that shut out worries and anxieties. His love for his friends made no room for negativity. Sasha could only hope to do the same for him; she wondered if she did.

“You always give nice hugs,” she whispered. His laugh bubbled against her. “They’re nice and warm.” Number seventeen. There was never a moment where he wasn’t glowing with warmth and happiness.

“I like your hugs,” Connie said. The compliment lunged her gut forward. “They make me feel safe.”

“Aww.” Sasha moved back to see his face, beaming shyly at his words. “Yours do too.”

The music took a sudden change of pace to a more upbeat song—probably JLo, by the sound of it—and Connie instantly started to dance. Sasha couldn’t help but bop with him, swaying in his arms as he swung his hips side to side. Connie never missed an opportunity to dance—that’s how it made number sixteen on her list. He had been in classes since he was young, and it had been used as a special skill he was happy to show off.

Sasha thought it funny that someone so clumsy on his feet could move so effortlessly—number nine—but there he was. Proving to anyone who thought he didn’t know how to move on his feet that he could.

Shit.

Sasha leaned over to whisper in his ear, hoping it didn’t look suggestive to anyone looking at them. She just wanted him to hear her without having to yell over the party. “Thank you for making me feel better.”

She bowed her head in his shoulder the second she finished her statement, but she could feel the smile radiating from his being. “It’s what best friends do. I care about you a lot. And, y’know, I kinda _have_ to, or else your ponytail will whip me in the face.”

Sasha giggled. “Oops.” The two of them shared a laugh, but she couldn’t help but wonder how quickly they turned back to jokes. Were they really going to avoid any deep development between each other? “Were we getting too serious?”

“Maybe.” Connie reached up to toy with a strand of hair. “Maybe I said that to make you laugh. Because you deserve to be happy.”

No one else had a better reason to make others feel good—number nineteen. He saw the good that everyone held inside them and encouraged it to thrive and live out in the world. He knew how good that feeling could be, and he wished others could experience it. How good and pure and kind—number four. A boy with good intent. “I think you deserve it too.”

“Aww, stop.” Connie hid his face in her shoulder. “You’re too cute.”

He froze against her instantly, as if he had realized what he had said, but Sasha managed to keep her composure. The only notice that she heard it was the slip of her hand against his waist to his lower back.

“I meant it,” she said. “Your happiness is important.”

Connie gulped, but then he broke into soft peals of laughter. “We should stop avoiding our feelings and do something about them.”

Shit. That sounded like a bad idea. Sasha suddenly felt the urge to run out of the house and never return. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Like…” Connie trailed off, and a hand reached up to tangle in the ends of her ponytail. The room was spinning much more than before. “Cuddlin’ or somethin’.”

Sasha jumped at the suggestion; Connie stepped back to give her room. A few bodies—friends, familiar faces, distractions—walked between them. No, they needed to help her. Whatever they were talking about—yes, Jean was there, too—was much more important than the boy in front of her.

Or. Maybe not. No, not at all. Never. Connie was a beacon of sunshine that wanted to reach anyone he passed. His birth name, Rishaan, meant “a good human being.” His very person was surrounded by goodwill. Sasha could not think of one time that he had done something to purposely cause harm. He could be ditzy at times, sure, but his intentions were good.

God, she sounded like all those girls who had ostracized her for her accent or strange tics or whatever excuse they had, the ones who really only cared about the boys by their sides and the styles of their hair. How had she gotten so wrapped up in a boy?

Sasha had avoided the twenty-fifth reason on her list for a reason. She was afraid of what finishing it would do to how she saw Connie. But what bad could come from a person like him? Her abstract list that pinpointed the particular attributes that she appreciated were proof that this was okay. She didn’t get wrapped up in just any boy. Connie was her best friend, her partner in crime. He understood her—eighteen—in a way that only her family and Jean could. He read her like a book, even if she didn’t want to be read, even if he didn’t yet grasp what was going on. He could at least provide a smile and a hug and a few laughs.

Number twenty-five: the way he makes her feel is something that no one else could do.

Sasha reached up to her ponytail and tugged the tie out. It snapped against her wrist, and thick brown tresses tumbled onto her shoulders. It would need a trim soon, if only to help her bear the heat. For now, it could be toyed with.

“We should go somewhere else,” she said. “So that no one else can hear us.”

Connie perked up at her suggestion, and he nodded vigorously. “Okay. I like that.” If there had been any traces of doubt in his face, they were gone now. He held out a hand, and Sasha gladly took it. She squeezed the grip slightly—this was happening. Oh god.

They stopped by to get some drinks at the makeshift bar and to check that everything else in his house was in place. So far, according to a somewhat busy Armin, very little had gone wrong. Mikasa, who was turning a cherry over in her empty glass, contradicted the statement.

“Have either of you talked to Eren lately?” She asked while they waited on their drinks. Her stance was filled with tension. Sasha wanted to ask what was wrong—Mikasa was one of her closest friends, after all—but she was too distracted with what she and Connie were about to do.

“Nah, mate,” Connie shook his head. When he said certain phrases picked up from his British father’s jargon, a tiny twinge of an accent jumped out. Sasha hadn’t noticed how attractive it was until now. “I got distracted by a dork.”

Sasha giggled and playfully nudged him. “Then stop looking in the mirror!”

Armin glanced between them but said nothing and passed their drinks over. Mikasa only frowned and pressed her head against the counter.

They got separate drinks, but Sasha stole a sip from him, and Connie ended up getting lost in her hair. He enjoyed holding the strands and then twirling them around his fingers. When he got to the end, he let them fall in a swirl. Sasha liked how they looked brushed on her shoulder, strong in shape yet tender in care.

“I’m gonna go see your birds.”

Sasha barely registered the speaker as Annie before she was gone. Connie had answered her, but his gaze stayed on her hair. Suddenly, the thought of getting away sounded more appealing than ever.

“We should get going, too,” she hummed. She could see what the twirl of his finger in her hair did to him. His wide eyes and eager hop were obvious. “We have business to take care of.”

Connie scrambled off his stool to reach for her hands. Sasha gave him both, accompanied by a wide smile, and laughed until they got to his room. Their drinks, Mikasa’s worry, Eren’s whereabouts, their entire friend group—everything was blocked out. Connie was the spinning focal point of her world, and he was bringing her along for sweet company. Sasha leaned against the door and shut it, hoping to steady herself. They hadn’t even kissed yet and she was—

Oh. That’s what couples did, in these situations, didn’t they?

The inexperience and looming threat of ridicule shocked Sasha into a stoic facade, and she froze up. Had Connie ever done this with someone? The most she had done was some hand-holding with Mikasa and a few kisses with Jean, but nothing serious. And she had heard the rumors of Connie’s own adventures, but he had never vocalized or confirmed them.

“Uhh,” she began, wishing that the words would just sprout from her tongue. Connie looked up from his fidgeting with the duvet, noticing her hesitation instantly, and held out a hand. She took it almost immediately; the nervous shaking was in him too. She could feel the tremble in his hand.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” He whispered. A light blush had adorned his face, dusting over his cheeks as if a paintbrush had gone by.

“No,” Sasha mumbled. “Do you?”

Connie frowned and averted his gaze to his feet. “I was hoping you would.”

“I don’t know shit.”

The familiar sight of a smile perked up. “I like when you curse. Your accent gets thicker.”

Sasha dropped her hand so she could cup his waist. The slim hip she ran a hand down curved into her. “What’re you talking about?”

Connie _whined_. Oh no. “Sasha—”

She bent down and kissed him. Words were getting overrated. She could use her mouth for other things, like kissing and biting and sucking— _oh no_ . Those thoughts were the first step over the edge, and now _she_ was bringing Connie along with her.

The boy was initially surprised at her presence, but he reached up to tangle his hands in her hair and, well, wow. It’s like he knew where to drag his nails, wiggle his fingers, press his palms. Number twenty-two—those hands. Illegal, determined, verging on lustful. All for hands—how ridiculous. At least she didn’t have to say anything to him about it.

Connie pulled her closer by clasping his hands around her neck. Their noses knocked together, but Sasha didn’t know how to care. They didn’t have to know what they were doing. This was their experience, their time together, and their chance to find out what the other found so enticing. Connie’s lips were soft and shy but still fueled by a curious passion. This feeling, whatever it may be called, was nice. It allowed them to bask in their inexperience without pressure from knowing too little. And even if it did, even when Sasha moved back for air and Connie chased after her for more, it didn’t make a difference.

“You taste like Dr. Pepper,” Sasha whispered. She punctuated her compliment with a smile.

Connie squirmed in her arms so he could better hug her waist. “You taste like Jell-O.”

“Aww, darn. I wanted to taste like salsa.” She could barely contain her giggling. “Guess I have to try harder.”

“No, no, you don’t!” Connie jumped forward to kiss her again, standing on his tiptoes to make up for the height difference. “I think I got some pico.”

Sasha threw her head back to laugh, swinging their hands back and forth as he beamed up at her. “You’re so gross!”

Connie shook a hand free and waved it in the air, as if trying to get something gross off his fingers. “Ew, sticky.”

Sasha tried to get him back for the comment, because that was just plain mean, but they were laughing too hard to try anything on each other. Connie was too nimble and quick—number nine—to reach, and Sasha used her height as an advantage. They were laughing and touching more than they were doing anything intimate, but there wasn’t a dip in the feelings between them. It still felt the same.

Is that what it felt like to love your best friend?

Connie’s maneuvering had brought them to his bed; he bounced onto the comforter and looked at her with a mischievous gleam. Sasha hopped after him, positioned right on top of him, and trapped his legs between hers. Their sudden closeness had Connie falling back on the bed to avoid plunging straight into her chest. He stared up at her in bewilderment. Sasha was equally surprised, and she was sure she was looking at him with the same expression, but she was too distracted to get herself out of it. His eyes, the curve of his nose, his lips—and he was right in front of her.

Sasha shifted to give his legs some room to stretch out, and then she reached up to caress his cheek. He nuzzled her hand and followed it with his gaze. Slowly, she ran a hand over his buzzed head, letting the prickles of hair run over the pads of her fingers. When the weather was cooler, he let his hair grow out and freely curl, first in a clean cluster on his head, and then in a wave of twists that could only be managed in a ponytail. Sasha appreciated both styles: the usual and the surprise. Not that it would make a difference, since she already liked him, but it was a nice note to make. It barely fought for number seven.

“Hey,” Connie whispered, one hand raising to brush against her jaw. He licked his lips before speaking again. “Do you wanna…”

Sasha’s hand scrambled down his chest and curled at the hem of his shirt, stopping before she hit his waistline. “U-um. Do you want to?”

“It doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” He brought both hands behind her neck, smiling up at her. “I’m kinda nervous though.”

“Me too. Have you ever—“

“No. Have you?”

“No.”

“Oh. I thought you and Jean would have—“

“We got close. But, uh, we don’t feel like that for each other. I thought _you_ would have, because of—“

“The rumors.”

“Yeah.” Sasha looked away sheepishly. She hated admitting their power over her. They seemed so ridiculous now.

“Maybe we can, like,” Connie shrugged, and one hand ghosted to her front, toying with her sleeve, “I dunno. Go slow, I guess?”

“That sounds nice.” Sasha leaned down to nuzzle his nose. “We can figure things out along the way.”

“Yeah!” The excitement had returned to his face, but it coiled down, as if he was embarrassed for being so vocal. “I mean, uh, yeah. That sounds good.”

She shook her head; the last thing she wanted was to shut his spirit away. It was already a beautiful thing—it was number eleven, his lucky number, for a reason. It deserved freedom. “You can be excited. I am.” She let one hand hold her up as the other, her right one, shimmied down to his side. Her fingers brushed against the peeking slip of tan skin.

Connie shuddered. “O-oh.” His hand gripped her shoulder now, cupping the muscle as a lifeline to keep him steady. “Maybe we should just stop talking and do something.”

Sasha just hummed, and she captured his lips again. The sweetness was overriding any taste of the alcohol they had consumed. It felt like there was a gentle buzz at the back of their minds, enough to make a presence but not enough to slur words and blur memories. And she was happy about that—there was nothing she would ever want to forget.

Connie’s hand slipped further down as their lips tangled and twisted together. His tongue teased her, jabbed at her, and she invited him in her mouth. Making out was definitely different from the movies she had seen. She had to remember how to breathe, which was hard with the distractions he provided, and she was greedy to feel and taste everything he had. She gave him anything she could, and he responded in kind, an overflow of passion keeping her in its grasp and pinning her and Connie together.

Her hair was cascading over her shoulder, but his hand was more than happy to tangle in it. Connie pulled back from their kiss to say as much, panting with glistening lips. “I love your hair.”

Sasha hid a blush into his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t feel the burning in her cheeks. “I love yours too.”

She felt his giggle rumble against her. When had they gotten so close to one another? “It reminds me of Nutella.”

Her laugh was spluttering, shocked but not too much—this was Connie, after all. He knew her tastes. “Is your name Casanova, or are you always this romantic?”

“I tried especially for you tonight.” Connie leaned back to bop her nose. “Guess I did good.”

“Mm. I think so.” Sasha rested her knees in between his legs so she could lay on him in a more comfortable position. “But now _I_ have to try something.”

“Bet.”

She nudged against his collarbone, as bony and present as the rest of him. “Watch me.”

Connie had snuck both hands back into her hair while they readjusted their positions against each other, but she had failed to recognize the hand that had traveled its way down to her chest. It hovered right in the crook of her shoulder and neck, and it felt like a fire was rising inside her. She planted a soft kiss to his wrist, as encouragement to go further, and he caught on. His fingers added a small presence of pressure on her breast, but he stopped himself from squeezing. Sasha was about to ask why he didn’t when his palm suddenly pressed against her. _Oh._

Her gasp was unrestrained, the start of a floodgate that contained a flow of wet pants and hip bumps. His hand was gentler than she could have ever imagined. He didn’t move unless she made a sound, a breathless “yes” and a toss of her head. He stayed on one side, going so far as to follow her bra and the drooping curve of her tit, but nothing further. Nothing crazy. He was especially cautious.

Sasha remembered that she had something planned for him as well, and she drummed her fingers against his belly. Connie glanced down and shifted his hips in an unabashed invitation.

“Do you wanna go…” Sasha wasn’t sure how to word it, so she lifted the end of her shirt up to her bra line. Connie’s nod was eager.

“And you can do the same,” he said. To prove his point, he removed his hands from her and undid his zipper. Oh. So that’s what they meant. Once they committed to this, there was no going back for them.

“Shit.”

“Say it again. I love your accent.”

“Shit, shit, shit—”

Sasha slipped her hand past his waistline. Connie yelped at the contact and melted underneath her. He threw his head back and moaned, unrestrained and free. She had no idea what she was doing—sure, she had seen _some_ videos, thanks to incognito mode, but those weren’t made to educate the masses. At least neither of them knew what they were doing.

“Do that again,” she whispered into his chest. She trailed a series of kisses up his neck, past his jaw, and to his ear. “You make nice sounds.”

Connie whined, a bit more desperate than the one earlier, and he threw an arm around her neck. Number twenty-four was, without a doubt, for the sounds he made. His laugh deserved its own category, and his voice was equally sweet to her ears. But his _moans_ , his gasps, the breaths that asked for a little bit more—god. It was a category all on its own.

Sasha didn’t register where his other hand was until it was under her bra, cupping her breast and squeezing. Then it was her turn to groan, wet and right next to his ear, complete with a pleasured shudder that added a quiver to her sounds. “Fuck.”

“Whoa.” Connie gulped; his throat bobbed with the action, and Sasha found herself gawking at the motion. “Y-you can speak forever.”

“Would that be good?” She sat up just so she could see him, falling apart and tumbling further from her hand, and tried to smile with confidence. His hand was treating her rather nicely. “Because…I like that.”

Hips thrusting forward, Connie spread his legs wider. Sasha took the offer of more space so she could align their bodies and kiss the stretch of skin that was just hidden by his shirt. She didn’t want to mark him or raise questions. She just wanted to taste him, admire him, honor him in the only way her mind could think of.

“Please,” he sighed and shut his eyes.

“I’ll talk as long as you want,” she said.

“Yeah?” His breathing was starting to pick up.

“Yeah. I like talking to you. Maybe we can get some coffee later. See what your dog’s up to.”

Connie was breaking apart in her hands; his hand had stopped massaging her breast to press against his forehead. The other was clenching the pillow above him as if he was trying to steady himself. His head was bobbing in a continuous nod, unable to form words or do anything with his mouth besides pant and breathe.

Sasha used it to her advantage. She leaned in close to his ear and, unable to stop her smirk, whispered, “I thought it was good.”

There was a stutter in his hips, and then he was crying out, thrusting up into her hand. Sasha could feel the heat that had built up suddenly exploding in her hand. And all because of her.

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel about that.

“That was beautiful,” Sasha kissed his cheek, nuzzling the spot with her nose. “You make nice noises.”

He whined, though not without a smile, and laughed breathlessly. “What can I say? I’m a natural.”

“Pff.” Sasha noticed something distracting him, as he suddenly eyed his hand. Maybe he was wishing to thank her in a similar way. Suddenly, the thought of his hand rubbing over her, teasing her nerves and sending quakes through her body—it was so much. Her chest burned with the desire for it.

Should she assume anything?

“You can do it too.” God, that was a terrible way to start it off. “If you, um, if you want.” Sasha sat up so that she was sitting on the bed, adjusting her bra and shirt to their previous position.

Connie blinked owlishly and pushed himself up. He looked a little disheveled—if he had his long hair, it would certainly be obvious—but there was something in his eyes that said he liked her suggestion. Maybe he _had_ thought of it. “Do you want to?”

Sasha shrugged. Honestly, she hadn’t thought much of it. She hadn’t thought much of sex in general. And this counted as some form of sex, right? There wasn’t penetration, but they were doing more than cuddling. “It would be nice.”

His gaze flicked to her waist before flitting back to her eyes. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I did, like, boob stuff once, but—”

Sasha snorted. “What does boob stuff include?”

Connie’s embarrassment vanished at her laugh, and he smiled again. “You know! Like, grabbing and stuff.”

“Yeah, but _what_ stuff?”

“Sashaaa!” He fell against her, obviously exaggerated, and broke into a fit of giggles. Sasha nuzzled against the top of his round, shaven head and wondered, once again, if, sitting beside him, joking around, loving every second of it, was what love felt like.

“I don’t know either. I held hands with Mikasa once.”

Connie’s eyes widened. “Whoa. That’s a scandal.”

“Yeah, I know. How gay of me.”

He didn’t even flinch. He knew she was bisexual; she knew he didn’t like labeling himself. It was a free sort of pansexuality. “I held Jean’s hand once.”

“Same!” Sasha sat up. “Was he sweaty? Did he wipe away the gay, like he did with Eren at Krista’s birthday party last year?”

“He tried to, but then I called him out for looking at Marco’s butt, and he took it back.” Connie sighed, long and loud, and returned to cozying against her. “He thought he was super slick. But hey, what can you do?”

“You can kiss me.” The hazel-brown, the swirl of color that reminded her of sandy beaches on summer days, was burning into her. “And show off how good your hands are.”

“I can do that.” His lips were still sweet, his bottom lip fuller but equally soft as the top. He kissed her cheek and strayed up to her ear, brushing past her hair and nuzzling it. Sasha let out a long sigh, smiling as she shut her eyes. What bliss. What gentleness.

“Did you miss a spot?” She asked when he moved back.

“I don’t know.” Connie climbed into her lap, framing her legs with his own, and tangled both hands in her hair again. “Did I?” He pulled her in for a kiss, right when Sasha leaned forward in a silent request to continue on, to not stop, to keep it up before she exploded—

He was still infatuated with her hair. He enjoyed running through it, tangles and all; Sasha enjoyed the sensation. Each touch was gentle, tender, like he wanted to savor every contact he made. He tickled the back of her neck and admired the way the strands weaved through his fingers. It was calming; she wanted to fall asleep to it. Connie was so good. How did she end up here with him?

His hand snuck up on her. The pad of his right index finger brushed against her. The way it moved back from her felt like he was giving her a chance to catch her breath. Her initial reaction was to jump in place and lunge her hips forward. It felt like a tickle, a faint presence on her that sent a tingle through her. But then he returned for a brief touch, and he pulled back as if he was trying to figure out the best spot to focus on. To Sasha, every spot was the right one.

“How does it feel?” He asked shyly. When his hand returned, it stayed in one spot, and Sasha mewled.

“I feel like I’m on fire,” she panted. Her hair had already started to stick to her forehead from her sweat. “Oh god. Connie—”

His finger flicked out, a small motion to separate the index and middle digits. She choked on his name. He slid back to follow the movement of her body, and she tried not to push against his fingers, but it was too enticing. She was drinking in every offer he had to give, relishing every wave of pleasure.

Connie found a rhythm, but Sasha feared it was too late when she felt the warmth pooling inside her start to edge her closer. Everything was so new, and so electric, that she refused to let it end. She threw her head back and panted, pulling the boy closer, trying to drink in every moment. He nuzzled against her neck and hummed contently right in her ear. The vibrations traveled down her spine.

It went too fast. Much like he had done, she found herself falling apart by his hand. As if it hadn’t taken any effort for her to climax in the first place. Sasha banged her head against the wall and sighed, tension sending her back rigid and then releasing it. Connie pressed one, two more times before he pulled back completely. He sat back on the bed, legs spread out like a child’s, hands pressed against the bed, zipper still undone. They both looked like messes—Sasha didn’t need a mirror to confirm that. Her neck was the gross type of sweaty, and one look down sent her nose reeling from the smell of her bra.

“So,” Connie gulped, still breathing a bit harsher, and scratched the side of his head, “what do we do now?

The question terrified her. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t understand what this meant for them or their future. She didn’t want to _think_ about any of it. They were best friends, first and foremost, but now, the titles of boyfriend and girlfriend could jeopardize that whole idea. Three and a half years had gone by: three and a half years of friendship, of her partner in crime, of the anxious thoughts that had haunted her since childhood and questioned when her friends would abandon her.

Sasha decided not to answer. She stood up, a bit shaky from the bed, underwear suddenly _very uncomfortable_ , and stumbled out the bedroom door. A bit of air would do her some good. A bit of space would do more than that.

Instead, she ran right into more bone, if a bit taller, and a tad grumpier. Sasha glanced up to see Jean, looking equally bewildered, maybe a bit tipsy still, but he was here. He was the perfect chance for a distraction.

“Oh my god, my best friend,” she sighed, practically spitting her words out to hurry up the interaction and move as far away as possible. “It’s been so long. Where have you been?”

Jean blinked at her for a second, maybe evaluating her words so he could answer. “I was making out with Marco,” he said, a bit casually, if worried, “but then I lost him—”

Sasha ignored the minor details—like how he had actually done something about his feelings with Marco—and tugged his arm. “Sounds good, let’s find him! Where do you wanna start?” She pointed in the direction opposite of the hallway and Connie’s room. “I’ll go here, on the other side of the room!”

She was off before she let him answer. She didn’t need to hear it, and he didn’t need to give one. All she needed was a distraction and some distance.

For a while, however long it had been, Sasha was able to do just that. She talked to people she recognized, as anxious as it made her to see and talk to them about non-school-related things. She noted that Armin was still at the bar, though he was definitely more exhausted than before, as if a weight was dragging him down, and—was that a Long Island Iced Tea he was drinking? Connie stayed in her mind, but only for her own safety. She didn’t want to let her guard down and accidentally find him face-to-face with her.

Occasionally, when she was around band kids or mutual friends, she asked about Marco, for Jean’s sake. He had been wandering and, when they passed, he grew a bit more worried and aimless in his search. During Connie’s toast, he had been so upset that he couldn’t find Marco. Now, they were coming full circle: he still couldn’t find the freckled boy, and she wasn’t sure where she stood with Connie.

“It’s okay, Jean, we’ll find him,” she assured him with a pat. They had taken a break at the bar; Armin, suspiciously, had disappeared. The number of partygoers had dwindled, but a few stayed behind to chat and share a few more minutes relaxing in the living room.

Jean, unfazed once again from her encouragement, clutched his head in his hands. “I need to find him now. He could be anywhere.”

“Well, he didn’t leave. He doesn’t have a car and he’s sleeping over with us. Right?” She nudged Jean when he didn’t answer her at first, and he glowered at her with a stubborn “yeah.” “So he’s here somewhere! Maybe his freckles are starting to become camouflage.”

It was meant as a joke, but it hadn’t worked: Jean was still distressed. Sasha was growing exhausted.

“How about we switch places?” He suggested, standing up to propose this new and horrible idea. He grabbed the neck of a nearby bottle and gulped it down. “I’ll go through this side of the house, and you can go through the living room.”

“I hate that idea,” she said.

“Sounds good.” Jean patted her shoulder and walked off. She tried to stop him, and she was able to grab his arm on his way past her, but he shook her off and disappeared from her line of sight. Fuck him.

She would just have to be even more careful. She was a bit closer to the living room than before, but it gave her more of a reason to be on her guard. It could work out.

Sasha’s first mission that she set for herself was to go outside and see what was happening out there. She hadn’t gotten fresh air like she wanted, and taking it in for the first time in a while was rejuvenating. She noticed some of their other friends joking around—Thomas was teaching Hannah, Franz and Samuel how to tie a cherry stem with their tongues—hadn’t Mina been there?—but the ones she wanted to see were Reiner and Bertholdt. They were currently bent in front of one of the lawn chairs, taking care of a figure curled up on its side. The frame was smaller, enough to curl into the chair perfectly, and a stab of fear hit her gut. If that was Connie, she was going to scream.

Fortunately, as she stepped closer, the figure in the chair turned out to be Armin, and her relief was strong enough to knock any awareness of the alcohol that was dumped on her.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” Reiner said, his eyes wide and hand still gripping the solo cup he had spilled. The liquid smelled like champagne and something deeper, something aged, but she ignored it. At least she wasn’t wearing white.

“It’s okay,” she waved at him. Bertholdt gave her a beach towel hanging on the side of the deck, but she ignored it. “Have you guys seen Marco? Jean and I are trying to look for him. We haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Marco went away forever,” Armin grumbled. His right arm raised straight up, and he flapped his hand like a bird’s. “Bye-bye, marcochino.”

Bertholdt gently put Armin’s arm down and resumed taking care of their—extremely drunk—friend. Reiner turned to her with a tired sigh.

“The last we heard from Marco was at the beginning of the party,” he told her. “We haven’t seen him since.” Sasha pouted and turned to walk back to the house, but Reiner stayed curious. “Hey, are you okay, Sash?”

“I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry about me.” She closed the door behind her and stepped back in the living room. She was about to return to Jean when she saw Connie turning at the sound of the back door sliding shut. She would have screamed if he hadn’t caught her.

“Sasha!” He cried out. “I found you!”

“No you didn’t,” she scoffed, brushing past him. He was unfazed by her anger, or just didn’t notice it, and followed her. Damn his persistence—number fifteen. Why had she made that stupid list in the first place?

“Why did you leave me?”

“What are you talking about?”

Connie tugged her arm and spun her around. His expression was one of complete surprise and utter bewilderment. “We were in my room, remember? And we did things?”

“No.” Sasha took a page out of Annie’s book on how to deal with people she liked: push them away and keep shoving until they were far out of her reach. “I don’t remember anything.”

Sasha tried to push past him, but Connie wasn’t going to let it happen. “Sash, what’s going on? Did you not want to do it?” He was too scared to touch her, so his hand hovered between them with a tremble. “Talk to me.”

She let herself touch his shoulders to move him aside. It was the only thing she trusted herself to do. “You’re too drunk to deal with this right now. You need to get some rest.”

With her path free, Sasha stepped forward and headed down the hall. It was the only way she saw herself creating distance between the two of them. And, as she stepped closer, she noticed some funny sounds coming from the bathroom.

Sasha opened the door and found Mina—so that’s where she had gone—on her knees and face-first between Annie Leonhardt’s legs. Annie, wearing only her bra, had her hands tangled in black strands, her own blonde locks falling out of her sloppy bun. Her head was thrown back, neck bare as she moaned and gasped from the pleasure Mina was delivering. It wasn’t exactly surprising—maybe a little distracting thanks to Annie’s chest—but she didn’t expect to walk in on this.

Well. There was a first for everything.

“Have you seen Marco anywhere?” Sasha asked. Annie didn’t even acknowledge her, just let her knees buckle and her body curl up in euphoria. “He’s missing, and me and Jean haven’t been able to find him.”

Mina moved back for a second, panting slightly, and shook her head. “Haven’t seen him,” she said before she dove back in. Annie’s gasp was silent as her eyes widened, crying out the other girl’s name.

“Whoa.”

Sasha shut the door and glared at Connie. “Don’t be gross.”

Connie pouted at her accusation. Why did she have to add it to the list? “You were looking too!”

“I’m looking for Marco, not a chance to get laid.”

Ouch. That was a harsh sting. Connie mirrored the surprise she felt, taking a step back and eyeing her up and down. She was disgusting. Who said something like that to her best friend? Was she trying to burn the bridge between them?

Sasha broke the staring contest and opened the door across the hall—the bird room, filled with memories she didn’t want to recount. She focused on Mikasa and Eren instead, who were seated on the couch and were rather close together. They must have been having a nice chat before she interrupted them.

“Hi, guys, have you seen Marco?” She asked, instantly turning her friendliness back on. They deserved it. “Jean and I are looking for him.” She made sure to emphasize the fact that it was her and Jean, no one else, and convey the limited time they had to talk.

Mikasa shook her head. Eren gave a lopsided, apologetic smile. “I haven’t seen him for a while,” he admitted. “Sorry, Sash.”

Useless. Sasha returned to her frown and shut the door without saying anything else. This was a bigger waste of time than she had thought.

Connie was still behind her. When she began to walk out of the hallway, he stepped right into her line of sight and made sure nothing was getting in the way. He wanted to talk, and he wasn’t going to stand for anything less.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said.

Fuck. Eighteen. And the way he was looking at her—thirteen. Twenty-one. Shit. “What am I doing?” She dared. She wanted him to try and upstage her. He didn’t know anything.

“You’re pushing me away. You don’t want to talk about getting each other off because that would make it real.” He stepped closer, if it was possible, and stared up at her with all the bravery he could muster. “You’re afraid.”

Eighteen. “No I’m not.”

“You’re afraid of what it means for us, or because you have to face your own feelings, but either way, you’re scared.”

Sasha shoved past him. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Your Yankee act doesn’t fool me!” He was getting loud now. He never got loud with any of their friends, or anyone for that matter. He couldn’t bear the thought of being mean. “I may not be super smart, but I can see through your bullshit.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“We gave each other handjobs, Sasha!” When he said the words, she reeled back, as if scalded. He kept going. “We talked about feeling something for each other that we don’t feel with anyone else! And you wanna act like it never happened!”

Sasha choked on her breath. The words were too real; he was right. She didn’t want to breathe life into what they did. If she acknowledged it, she would be forced to deal with her feelings for Connie, and she wasn’t ready for that.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, but he cut her off.

“I don’t understand?” He gawked at her as if she had sprouted three heads. “No, _you_ don’t understand! You don’t want to date me, even though you already mentioned it before—”

“When?!” If he was going to throw accusations like that at her, he could at least do a better job. And she wasn’t to let it happen, either, so she hoped he was prepared.

“Last year, at Kristoria’s birthday party! You told me you wanted to date your best friend! You said it was the thing you wanted most when you dated someone, because companionship is the most important thing they could give you.”

Sasha remembered. She remembered wrestling with Reiner when she teased him for getting so close to Bert, and she made a comment on what it would be like to date her best friend. Jean had made a joke about it being him, and how dating her would be like dating a sister, but on the drive back home, in the back of his mom’s car, he mentioned who it really was. She tried to smother him with her hoodie for the accusation. Even then, she was running from Connie and what being his best friend meant.

She was trapped. He had the evidence. The only thing she could do was fight against him, even if that trapped her into a hole.

“I never said that!” She shot back. When had they gotten into the living room?

Connie stared at her in disbelief. “Yes, you did! Stop acting like nothing happened, Sash! It’s okay to be afraid!”

“How do you know how I’m feeling?!”

“Because this is what you do!” The living room was growing louder the more they talked, but Sasha was too focused on Connie exposing her insecurities to care about it. “You avoid questions by asking your own, you get as far away from people as possible, you don’t take responsibility for anything you do—”

Sasha gritted her teeth and bowed her head. “Shut up.” Her body was caught between holding back tears and tearing herself up from the inside in disgust.

Connie must have realized the effect his words had, and what he had done to bring her so close to the edge, because his words were suddenly softer and the volume of his voice was lower. “I thought it was okay to talk to me about that kind of stuff. I thought we could.”

“Rishaan—” She blew out a long breath and shook her head. “It’s more than just that.”

“Well just _say_ something, Sasha!” He reached out for her hands. “I don’t wanna do it by myself! I can’t make decisions for you.”

“I never wanted you to,” she said with a small bite to her words. “I never asked you to. It’s not as easy as you want it to be.”

“You can’t avoid it forever. Running away won’t help anyone.”

“But I can think. I can get my thoughts straightened out. I can know what I’m gonna say before it comes out of my mouth so that I don’t end up looking like an idiot.” Sasha rolled her eyes and released a long breath. Letting it out felt like she had released her problems and worries away from her. “All I need is myself.”

Before they could say more, before she could process the heartbroken betrayal on Connie’s face, they were split apart. The couple from outside had returned; Bertholdt turned to them as Reiner tried to pry Ymir off of Jean—when had they started fighting? And when did the cockatoos get released?

“What is going on?”

Sasha wanted to know the same thing. She ended up helping Reiner, wrapping her arms around Ymir’s waist while Marco and Reiner hauled her up from her armpits, but she was just as quick to fall under his scolding. Everyone was a mess, not just her and Connie. And there was much more going on in their heads than she had thought, much more that had yet to be said. She wished she could fly away from it, lock it away so that it never saw the light of day, and free herself from ever having to deal with it.

She couldn’t do any of that. So she led Ymir to the kitchen for a glass of water while the others focused on preparing their own sleeping arrangements.

Ymir was silent for a while, watching Sasha prep her glass and move through the kitchen like it was her own. Sasha hated the implications of that, but there was little she could do about it. When Ymir did speak up, it was about something that took too much energy to be surprised about. “You know, I didn’t think you and Connie would try to rip each other apart when the word ‘date’ and ‘sex’ were thrown at you.”

Sasha simpered. “I didn’t think you’d fuck up asking Historia out on a date.”

“Well.” Ymir took a long sip of her water. “I guess we’re all unexpected accidents.” She passed the glass over, but Sasha shook her head. “What, are you afraid of my gay germs?”

“I just wanna go to bed.” She shut her eyes and leaned against the counter. “I don’t want to live this day anymore.”

“Hm. Same.” Ymir dumped the rest of the water down the drain and put it in the sink. “Well, I know you and Jean are gonna get gross snot all over each other, so I won’t bother you tonight.”

Sasha glared at the freckled girl. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you two are best buds and you need each other.”

“You need someone, too.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

The number one reason she liked Connie, coming back to bite her in the ass. She liked him as a best friend. She liked him as a boyfriend. She would like it more if he would stop disrupting her thoughts. But things weren’t ever going to be that easy.

“I’m here for both of you,” Sasha emphasized. She grabbed Ymir’s hand in hers and squeezed; Ymir grimaced, although there was a flicker of thanks in her eyes, the twitch of her lips, the unspoken shift to get closer. She wouldn’t say anything, out of respect for both of them. “None of us should be alone tonight.”

Sasha resigned herself, in the cluttered kitchen, to do whatever she could to help her friends. Even though it meant sleeping on her back so that both Jean and Ymir could cuddle against her, under the protection of her arms, then she was willing to do it. Anything to help them.

At one point, Spike came to sleep at the end of the mattress, happy to keep her company to her ironic dismay. Her night was restless, spent shifting under the two weights and trying to ignore the stabs in her lower back from the unusual position. She wanted to curl up on her side, but any movement would send the people cuddled against her in a tailspin. And she didn’t want to start a fight for her attention when they had already fought for Marco’s. God, how complicated could they be?

In her search for sleep, Sasha saw Mikasa equally restless, staring at the floor as if it could give her answers. Sasha offered a smile when their eyes met, and she held out a hand. Mikasa took it softly, their fingers brushing for one moment, and then they fell apart. Jean snuggled up closer to her when she put her arm back down, and Mikasa mouthed her thanks.

Sasha felt a little less lonely in this struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, and in numerical order, Sasha's 25 reasons for liking Connie: 
> 
> 1) why not?  
> 2) his laugh  
> 3) his smile!  
> 4) he’s kind and pure  
> 5) he’s short  
> 6) that face he makes when he’s curious or confused or amused or anything really  
> 7) hair!  
> 8) he genuinely cares about others  
> 9) he nimble and fast  
> 10) his big round head  
> 11) his spirit is so strong  
> 12) his hugs  
> 13) the color of his eyes  
> 14) he’s goofy  
> 15) he’s persistent  
> 16) he dances! and it’s really good  
> 17) warmth  
> 18) he understands  
> 19) no one else has a better reason for making others laugh  
> 20) he doesn’t judge someone on little things  
> 21) his eyes—expressive and wide  
> 22) his hands  
> 23) he is truly soft and shy on the inside  
> 24) the sounds he makes  
> 25) the way he makes her feel is something no one else can do


	9. Parenting 101 With Reiner Braun (with Special Guest Appearance by Bertholdt Hoover)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reiner just wants to cuddle with Bert and have a good night. But ten people have something else to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What??? A reasonable update time???? Who is this writer????
> 
> It might be because I have another story I wanna write after this one, or because I'm on a writing streak and Can't Stop Won't Stop but you know what who really knows

Despite all of the events occurring to their friends, Reiner and Bert were enjoying their time together in the backyard. Reiner was relieved that he was able to find some quality time for the two of them—as if they didn’t have enough already—away from the noise of the party. It had been nice for a little while, but the drama with their friends was starting to give him a headache.

“You know,” Bert said as he dried himself off with a nearby towel, “I could have gone the night without provoking Annie Leonhardt.” He would probably smell like alcohol later, but that was fine. He could just block out the smell.

Reiner smirked and shrugged, scratching Spike behind the ears. “How do you know I didn’t do it on accident?”

“Because I know you and you didn’t jokingly suggest she and Mikasa could date on accident.”

“You don’t know that!” Bert gave him an incredulous look, and Reiner hopped back up to his feet. “Come on! Why don’t you trust me?”

Bert scoffed and tossed the towel to Reiner. “You haven’t done anything to convince me.”

“I can fix that.” Reiner sidled up to his boyfriend and wrapped his arms tight around his waist. “Should I do it through kisses or hugs?”

“Neither.” The look he pulled must have really tickled his boyfriend, for Bert laughed gently and kissed his forehead. “I think you’re smitten.”

Reiner smiled sweetly and nuzzled his neck. “You don’t say.” It was difficult to think of a time where he had restricted himself from having the relationship he wanted with Bert. When he rejected his sexuality for the sake of other people, or when he deprived himself of his own happiness. Those feelings felt so far away, and yet they stung at his insides, a reminder of the hold he had been kept under. At least he was free now.

A minute later, the two had barely sat down—Bert had to push him into the other seat to separate the iron grip around him—when Jean barreled out of the house, distressed and claiming that he and Marco had kissed. Reiner felt—he  _ knew _ —it was a caveat for what was to come. He had already talked to Mikasa about Eren after he slapped her hand and ran out of the kitchen. And talking to Krista about Ymir’s attempt to woo her wracked his nerves; it could go just as wrong as Mikasa’s casual check on her brother. 

“He has to be fine,” Reiner told Mikasa after her brother. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”

“I doubt it,” she said. She leaned against the kitchen counter and bit her lip, anxiety clearly wracking her nerves. She held back a hiccup. “Something’s going on with him.”

“Come on, he would have told you, of all people, if something was wrong. Maybe he hit his shoulder and you touched a sore spot. Or maybe it’s a tactic to give you time away from him.”

“Has he talked to you?”

“No, but—”

“So if he hasn’t told  _ you _ anything, how would you know about any of that?”

“You probably just scared him. He’s jumpy with shit like that, right?”

There wasn’t much he could do to help Eren. He could only hope the feeling of dread that was pounding in his stomach stopped soon, else he give himself an ulcer.

“The world is ending, Jean,” Reiner said when he was prompted. Bert was glaring a hole into the side of his head, but he ignored it for the time being. He would handle the scolding from his boyfriend later. “Everything’s falling apart. Enjoy it while you can.”

That response did not help the anxiety that had clearly made a home inside Jean. His grip around Spike tightened, and his eyes were wide with fear. Whoops.

Thankfully, Bert swooped in and saved the day, kneeling next to the kiddie pool their drunk friend was sat in. “He’s just overreacting,” he assured. There was a bit of warning meant for Reiner in his words, which he supposed would only be fair. “The world isn’t ending. He’s being dramatic.”

They got a water for Jean and let him relax with Spike, petting the Great Dane’s ears and laser-focused on where he put his hand. Reiner felt just as bad; he had just seen Jean, when Eren had run out, and he had been fine. Looking for Marco, and lost, and a little tipsy, but fine. Now, he was crumbling under the idea that he had done something wrong, something that Reiner knew was ridiculous, and it only added more evidence for his theory.

“You need to relax, Reiner,” Bert said softly when he sat down again. “I know you’re worried about Eren, but you can’t tell an already worried drunk that the world is ending.”

“That was dumb, I’ll admit that,” he admitted, “but I know something’s wrong.”

Bert smiled in jest. “I thought I was supposed to be the anxious one.”

“I’m giving you a break.” Reiner scooted the lawn chair closer, just so the two of them could talk. “Something with Krista felt off when he saw her earlier. And then right when she leaves, Eren starts being weirder? And now Jean?”

Bert eyed Jean, who was resting his head against Spike, and hummed quietly. “I’ll be honest, I was skeptical when you saw Eren hit Mikasa. He’s always pushed her away. And Krista…”

“Something felt off for me.” It could have been the way she stood—near them, but not too close, to maintain distance—or the way she spoke—words that might have meant no harm in any other setting, but a poisoned lining to her tone proved otherwise. He couldn’t tell; Krista was too good at ignoring important things. “Something else was going on with her.”

“Yeah, I felt it too, but I didn’t want to ask. I figured it had to do with her dad.”

The patriarch of the Reiss family—because he truly acted like a man with all power and none to share—had done all he could to limit Krista. She was supposed to go to the right college, have the right friends, date the right person. Rod Reiss didn’t care if she was pansexual, or gay, or whatever sexuality she “wanted” to give herself, as long as she was with the right person. Her mother, in contrast, had taken every effort to distance herself from Krista’s life. In her eyes, Krista was the bastard that shouldn’t have happened. Her dad’s real family—because, after all, Alma was just the mistress—had treated her so much better. Uncle Uri encouraged her to never stop reading; her half-sister Frieda treated her no differently from her siblings.

Krista suppressed this. It wasn’t that she didn’t talk about it; she simply dismissed it. When she brought it up, it was nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter. She made sure no one used her real name, because her identity was the only thing she could control.

Reiner shifted in his chair. “But she felt off to you.” Bert’s nod fed the worried lump in his gut. “Shit. I hope Ymir didn’t get any of it.”

“I do, too. She cares about Krista.” Bert paused for a second, then cleared his throat. “For the record, I get what you mean now. Something’s going on. I don’t know how bad, but it’s definitely there.”

Reiner held out his hand, and Bert took it with haste, like it would disappear if he didn’t make it in time. Even if there was mayhem around them, they could keep each other grounded. “We have, what, a month and a half before college? I don’t want it to end with us breaking apart.”

“Would we be able to stop it if that happened?”

“I…” To be honest with himself, Reiner wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know what was happening, if everyone was affected by it, or if their worries were even worth feeding. They could just be a paranoid couple suspicious of things going well. The feeling of dread could be for naught. “I want to say yes.”

“Me too.” Bert’s thumb absently stroked the top of his hand.

Jean was up and about then, breaking off their conversation and a little more sober than before, and he was off to find Marco. Reiner secretly hoped that he would be able to resolve the issues he had. It was the only way his and Bert’s worry could avoid reality.

Spike trotted over to them, his ears flopping with each step as he showed them the stick he had found. At least a good boy was enjoying himself. Reiner took the stick gently and tossed it across the yard. Spike ran after it, long legs striding across the few yards like it was nothing. He tripped when he got to the stick, so it didn’t look as graceful as it could have, but he tried his best and that was okay.

“At least he can have fun,” Bert said. Spike came back with his stick, but he dove away from his outstretched hand. “Okay, it’s yours, you can have it.”

“Maybe I should get a dog,” Reiner mused. “Do you think Rosa would get along with a dog?”

“Rosa, yes. Cali, no.”

Cali, the sassy street cat Bert’s mom had rescued, was very particular with who was allowed in her presence. Reiner smiled at the mention. “She wouldn’t like a dog?”

“I’m convinced she’s eaten dogs bigger than Spike.”

Reiner cackled at that. “Nah, she hires people to do that for her. What about a small dog?”

Bert gave him a suspicious look. “I would love to see you with a toy poodle.”

“I was thinking of a Yorkie, but I’m open to suggestions.”

His boyfriend scoffed at him, shaking his head. Spike came back to say hello, probably to demand pats and belly rubs. Bert knelt down so he could meet his request and got a face full of tongue. He sputtered in surprise and stood back up; Reiner tried to stifle his laughter. “If you get a dog, I’m breaking up with you.”

Reiner smiled; he and Bert had long conversations on the benefits of having a dog versus a cat. It wasn’t that Reiner hated cats—having an animal sat in his lap, purring away, was comforting—and it wasn’t that Bert despised dogs—he always stopped to say hello to one. They just had a preference, and it just so happened to be different from each other. And that was fine, as long as Bert understood that Reiner was right.

“Personally,” Reiner whispered to him, “I think that was a great honor.”

“It smelled like wet grass.” Bert wiped his face on his sleeve with a grimace. “Frieda would never do that.”

“No, but she’d stain all your clothes with her hair.”

“She doesn’t even shed that much.”

“Rosa would know. And then she’d leave you and never come back.”

Bert’s eyes narrowed. He hit a sore spot. “That was cruel and you know it.” He paused for a moment, and then he turned back to the house and started heading up to the deck. Reiner was curious as to what he had planned.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you. I’m rationing out your kisses.”

Even if Bert was joking, now  _ he _ was the one playing with fire. Reiner ran after him—hadn’t Mina been out on the deck?—and grabbed his hand. “You wouldn’t actually do that to me, right?”

Bert shrugged—oh, he was tricky. “Maybe I am. You’re not exactly being very nice.”

“I can be nicer.” The doubt was blatant in his eyes, the beautiful green that breathed of life within the confines of a forest, warm and soft. Reiner almost got caught in them—even though he was always caught in them, but who was keeping track?—and offered a small smile. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

Bert let out a long sigh and stopped in front of him. He didn’t move their hands away, but Reiner could see he was wary. Any movement he made could prove to be bad. “Go ahead. You have one chance to prove me wrong.”

Reiner nodded his thanks, giving their hands a brief squeeze, and he stood up straight. He wanted to do this right, to prove he could be nice. Bert deserved nothing less, after all. But there was just a bit of him, a tiny part, that still wanted to joke. He could get away with it, surely. Maybe. He trusted Bert.

His chance ready, Reiner stood on his toes to press a small peck on Bert’s nose. Almost instantly, the taller turned around and started to walk to the door. “I should have known you would play dirty.”

“Wait, Bert, let me try again!” He wrapped his arms around Bert’s waist and pulled him closer despite the longer strides in the opposite direction and the laughter between them.

Bert looked over his shoulder. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and you betrayed me.”

Reiner dug his feet into the deck and pulled back. Bert fell against him, trying to hold back his laughs. “It was a joke.”

“That’s playing dirty!”

“No, it’s not!” One hand raised to Bert’s side and prodded it with a few wiggles of his fingers, and Bert’s laughter turned to ticklish giggles. “That’s playing dirty!”

Bert grabbed his hands and tried to pry them away, but Reiner tightened his grasp. “I refuse to date a cheater!”

“I thought you liked cats.” Bert covered his ears at the bad excuse of a pun, which only fueled Reiner to tease him more, but they were interrupted by a pair of arms that enveloped around them as much as it could. The smell of alcohol that accompanied the voice was suddenly worrisome and ended their jestful flirting.

“God, why are you two the only ones who c’have fun? Thasso mean.”

Reiner looked over Bert’s shoulder to see Armin pressed against his boyfriend and sliding further down his body. He and Bert broke away so they could help him stand and sit him down. There was a bottle of something in his hand—it looked like whiskey, but the label was torn off, so there was no way of telling—and there was a hickey peeking out from his collar. The sloppy state of his hair and the plumpness of his lips led Reiner to suspect that he had found some fun for himself.

“Armin, what are you doing out here?” Bert asked. “I thought you were watching the bar.”

“There’s, like, two people inside,” Armin pouted. “I didn’t have anything to do.” If Reiner wasn’t sure of Armin’s drunken state before, he was now. The way he swayed and slowly pronounced each word was enough to prove it. He didn’t slur his words as much as he took time to say each one correctly.

“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing out here, though,” Reiner pointed out.

Armin scoffed. “Maybe I wanted to see my friends.” To prove his point, he dove forward to hug Bert, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Bert gingerly removed the arms from his shoulders and sat their friend down again. “That’s nice, Armin, we’re happy you came to see us.” The look he shot Reiner said otherwise. This was just as much an omen as the ones that came before it.

“Fuck,” Reiner mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “This is literally the worst thing that could have happened.”

“The worst thing that could happen is if everyone started fighting at once,” Bert pointed out. Reiner hoped it never came to that. “Everyone’s had an isolated issue so far. They’re only butting heads with one other person.”

“What’re you talking about?” Armin asked. Bert patted his head gently, ushering him to lay down on his side.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Reiner said. He tried to stop himself from pacing, but it suddenly seemed like the best idea ever. “God, of all the nights for it to happen.”

“We couldn’t control that,” Bert reminded him. He sat down gingerly on the chair, careful not to disturb Armin.

“I think we could have.”

“Reiner—”

“I’m not being irrational.” Armin sat up to look between them, but he stayed quiet. “Something tells me this could have been avoided.”

Bert stared at him in disbelief, though Reiner wasn’t offended by it. He knew he sounded crazy, but he had his reasons. If he could just gain a second to think about it, then he would be able to prove his point.

Bert suddenly lunged forward, across the lawn chair, and grabbed a solo cup from Armin’s hands. “We don’t drink other people’s drinks, Armin,” he chided. The shorter blond whined and tried again to get it, but Bert passed it off to Reiner before it could be grabbed.

Armin huffed and glared at them. “You two are boring.” He fell back against the lawn chair and curled up.

“How the hell did you even get this drunk?” Reiner mumbled to himself. He turned to put the cup far away from Armin’s reaches, but he ran promptly into Sasha and spilled it over her front, drenching her shoulder down to her hip. “Oh god, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Sasha brushed it off. Reiner felt even sicker; she was bothered. Not by the alcohol, but by something deeper. She barely acknowledged the towel Bert offered her. “Have you guys seen Marco? Jean and I are trying to look for him. We haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Marco went away forever,” Armin declared from his place. He raised his arm and flapped his hand in a waving motion. “Bye-bye, marcochino.”

Reiner let Bert focus on the disaster that Armin had brought with him. That was a handful all on its own. Reiner turned to Sasha with a long sigh. “The last we heard from Marco was at the beginning of the party. We haven’t seen him since.”

That was far from the response she wanted—which he expected—but as she turned to walk away, he couldn’t help but ask. At least he could show that he was thinking of her and worried for her wellbeing.

“Hey, are you okay, Sash?”

Her response was instantaneous like she had prepared it. “I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry about me.” She shot the words over her shoulder as she left and returned inside the house. Her departure was barely reassuring.

Reiner tossed the solo cup aside and stormed down the deck to sit at the bottom of the steps. The people outside of his friend group—still friends—asked Bert if any help was needed, but he turned them down. Thomas got Armin a water and was thanked with a sloppy hug and endless praise. A few minutes later, the ones outside—suspiciously, their numbers had dwindled to four, with Mina missing from their troupe—had to leave, thanking them for hosting and offering well wishes to Armin. Bert thanked them and bid them goodbye before he walked over to Reiner and sat down. He didn’t say anything, but Reiner was waiting for something—a scolding, a lecture, some comfort.

“Armin passed out,” he said. “I got him to sip some water.”

Reiner said nothing. He didn’t want to talk, even though his entire character was built around conversation and being the extroverted big brother. He was sick of watching his friends turn into messes of emotions and unsaid feelings. The few minutes he had gotten to himself allowed him to try and figure out what could have been done to stop the dam from breaking. Unfortunately, he was no closer to figuring it out than he was before.

“Reiner.”

“I don’t want to yell at you, Bert,” he finally spoke up. “I’m upset right now.”

“I know. Can I hold your hand?”

Reiner would never say no to that request. He gently entwined their fingers and squeezed. Bert scooted closer to him and pressed against his side, a gentle presence pouring through the mayhem. “I tried to think of how this could have been avoided. I wanted there to be a way to stop everyone from falling apart. But there isn’t. There is no way that we could have prevented this.”

“You’re gonna make yourself sick if you think that hard. It’s not that simple.”

“I know, but I wanted it to be. I care about those dumbasses, and they’re making it really hard to love them.”

“You still love me.” Bert smiled gently at that. “You remind me that when I get too anxious. Even before we started dating, I always had you.”

Reiner hid his face in Bert’s neck to suppress the stupid grin that spread across his face. “What’s your point?”

“I’m trying to get you to focus on a good thing. You’re focused on the bad right now and it’s driving you crazy.”

“I’m perfectly sane.”

“That was debatable before. But I’m serious. If there’s one good thing you have right now, at this moment, what would it be?”

“You.” The answer was barely held back, not an inch of hesitance in his voice. He would always have Bert—they were stupid teenagers, but they had already been through so much together. Their friendship was a constant he could rely on without fail. “I see your trick and I don’t appreciate it.”

Bert placed a gentle kiss on his temple. “I don’t see how I tricked you.”

Not a minute later, there was a loud commotion behind them and irritated stomping on the deck. Reiner and Bert turned to find Ymir, standing by the lawn chair Armin was sprawled on and eyeing him curiously. When she caught them staring, her eyes narrowed and she pointed a finger at them.

“Both of you can fuck off right to hell,” she seethed. Reiner thought he heard a break in her voice like she was holding back tears, but he couldn’t be sure. “If you two bastards hadn’t encouraged me to go with my gut and try to swoon Historia, I would only have one problem to worry about.”

“First of all, there’s only one bastard here,” Reiner said. Bert glared at him for the self-deprecating dig. “Second, we have no idea what you’re talking, because we’ve been out here for the entire night.”

Ymir pulled out her phone and pointed to a text message. “I asked you for your advice about Historia, and you told me to go for it. ‘Me and Bert didn’t break down, so you should be good too. Go for it, bud!’”

Yikes. He had said that, when he thought about it. “What’s your point?”

“She blew up on me. She got mad when I tried to tell her what she had to do to help herself, but she’s so deep into a manic episode that she can’t understand the words I’m saying.”

“Manic episode?” Bert asked, but he was ignored. Ymir was on a roll and she wasn’t going to stop.

“And if my night wasn’t bad already, Marco’s been running around the house trying to look for Jean and instead he ran into his asshole boyfriend, who was definitely on the blacklist for this party—”

“Wait, you found Marco?” Reiner exclaimed.

Ymir scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Why am I even telling you guys? You’re so far stuck up each other’s asses, you don’t even see what’s happening around you.” She pointed to Armin in the chair near her. “Did you even see that Armin was here?”

“We’ve been paying attention all night.” Reiner refused to let someone claim he didn’t care when he had been worrying himself sick for a majority of the night. “We took care of Armin and Jean earlier. We haven’t heard from Marco since the beginning of the party.”

“How convenient you forgot about the Puerto Rican but took extra care to make sure your fellow white boys were okay.”

“You know that’s not what Reiner meant,” Bert shot back.

“I don’t need subtext to see his intentions!” Armin stirred at her yell, and Ymir eyed him for a moment before turning back to the two boys. “If you guys actually cared about anyone other than yourselves, you would have done more to get involved.”

“What the fuck were we supposed to do?” Reiner spat at her. Ymir didn’t answer; she was already heading back inside. “Ymir!” She slammed the back door shut. Reiner stood up and took the deck steps in twos. “Good, just what I wanted.”

Bert followed close behind. “You didn’t recognize anything she said, right?” He asked.

“No, of course not! Why would anyone?!”

“She said Krista—or, Historia, I guess—was having a manic episode.” He grabbed Reiner’s hand before he could get any farther away. “We said she was off, remember? Is that part of it?”

“I don’t know anything anymore.” Reiner suddenly pulled Bert into a crushing hug, holding the taller close to him. The urge was sudden; it just felt right for him to do. “But I know we need to find out for real.”

Reiner’s declaration was quickly matched with shouting—a conglomerate of voices that were too many to count—and the sounds of a scuffle. Reiner and Bert practically ripped apart from each other to dash into the house, and the sight they were met with was one that could only be suited for their sort of disaster.

The first thing that caught Reiner’s eye was the physical fight on the far side of the room. Ymir had pinned Jean down—and had hit him fairly hard, considering the crimson drips coming from his nose—and was trying to hit any part of his body that was in reach. Marco was doing a good job to limit her punches and pull her away, and Jean was kicking and pushing her off as best he could, but her legs were wound tightly around his waist. She would have to be forced off of him.

Closer to the door, Reiner noticed as the second most concerning issue, Sasha and Connie were standing with little space between them. It was intense, by the looks of it, and neither of them looked happy. Sasha looked like she wanted to scream; Connie must have been on the verge of tears. Hadn’t they been flirting earlier before? The words they shared were scathing and curt, the complete opposite of their relationship.

The most unusual sight was the soaring of white feathers overhead. Somehow, one of the cockatoos—probably Cheryl, since Prince Harry was less rambunctious—had taken to soaring overhead and squawking. Eren and Mikasa came in from the hallway to try and catch the bird, but it outmaneuvered them with each turn.

Reiner was the first to take action, pushing himself between Sasha and Connie to get to Ymir and Jean. He put his arms between them and started to shove them apart. Ymir reached across his arm, scratching him in the process, and tried again to hit Jean, but Reiner pushed her away before she could make contact.

“Cut it out!” He snapped. With the space between them, Marco was able to effectively pull Ymir off of Jean. Reiner held out a hand for Jean to take, but Ymir was suddenly back, pushing him down with a snarl. Jean fell back down with another cry, his head coming within inches of the shrine the Springers had that had thankfully been cleared off. This time, when Reiner pushed Ymir away, Sasha was there to help Marco, tugging her arms around Ymir and hauling her off. Jean jumped to his feet quickly, one hand hovering over his nose. He kept his back to Marco to hide the sight of his blood and prevent a bigger mess by triggering his hematophobia.

Ymir spat at Jean, “You’re so fucking lucky. If these assholes weren’t here, you’d be dead.”

Reiner stepped in her line of sight and gripped her shoulders. She wasn’t beyond backing down from a fight, but to do this to one of their friends was startling. “Ymir, what the actual fuck?”

“He hurt Marco.” She eyed her knuckles, speckled with blood, with disdain. “I’m not sorry.”

“Jean stopped me from leaving,” Marco stated. Not only was his accent thicker than normal, but the lisp he had hated for so long was becoming more noticeable. This night was worse than they had thought. “If it weren’t for him, I would have been with my ex by now.”

For a split second, guilt floated across Ymir’s face. Her duty to protect Marco outweighed everything, and it was one of the (arguably many) things she and Jean had in common. Reiner wondered if she was beating herself up, but he stopped himself from delving deeper into it.

Eren was standing off to the side, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Reiner recognized the feeling from the countless years by Bert’s side. He knew to approach with care and reached out a hand. “Are you alright?” He asked softly.

Eren blinked at the question and nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, I’m fine, I guess,” he said. Even his voice sounded small. Mikasa appeared beside him, and he welcomed her presence, stepping closer to her.

Krista appeared alongside Mikasa, but instead of stopping beside them, she started to go to Ymir. “What the fuck are you doing?” She snapped. The alcohol was still in her too. “Are you seriously focusing on someone else’s problems instead of your own? What a hypocrite!”

Before Ymir had a chance to retort—in what looked to be offense—Connie butted in. “Isn’t that what you were doing with me?”

Krista stopped in her place. The words took her by surprise, eyes wide and his breath caught. She wasn’t expecting him, of all people, to say that. If she didn’t like it, or if she had a rebuttal, she didn’t bring it up.

Reiner looked back at Bert, who was standing closer to the back door but looked just as unnerved by the in-fighting. There truly had been a mess, but it was larger than they could have imagined or understood. Reiner wished, just a little, that he had been wrong in the first place.

“So,” he began, his big brother instincts kicking in, since no one else knew how to be an adult, “why the hell were we trying to blow up the Springers’ living room?”

“The bird was my fault,” Mikasa admitted. “Annie and I were in the bird room earlier and we forgot to close the cage.”

“Where is Annie?” Bert asked.

Mikasa shrugged, but Sasha piped up, still holding Ymir in place. “Last I saw, Mina was going to town on her.”

If there was a reaction from Mikasa, Reiner didn’t notice it, though she did become alert when Sasha said that.

Ymir gave her an odd look, and Sasha sputtered. “I was helping Jean look for Marco! I had to make sure he wasn’t in there.”

“You were looking for me?” Marco asked Jean. He eyed the blond with surprise and disbelieving affection. Reiner couldn’t think of anyone who had taken the time to care for Marco in such a way, and with such strong intentions.

Jean nodded. “I wanted to explain myself,” he said, slightly muffled from the cover around his nose. A circular bruise was starting to form around his eye. Marco tried to move in his line of sight, but Jean dove away. “No! I don’t wanna make you sick.”

“Jean…” Marco trailed off, fidgeting with his hands briefly. “You—”

“It’s a fucking ruse,” Ymir whispered to him, but Marco wasn’t having any of it. He faced his freckled friend with irritation and what looked like disappointment. Marco could be harsh if the situation called for it, but for him to turn those feelings towards Ymir was rare.

“Fucking god, Ymir, do you want me to be happy?!”

“Of course I do, but—” Ymir eyed Jean out of the corner of her eye. “I didn’t think it would be him.”

“If that’s who he likes, then you should support that,” Reiner said. “You can’t choose for Marco, you know.”

Ymir snorted. “Of course, how silly of me.” The poison to her words wasn’t meant for Reiner; he caught Krista’s scowl instantly. “I shouldn’t tell people who they can and cannot like.”

“Shut up, Ymir,” Krista retorted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ymir threw her hands in the air. “What did I just say?!”

“Krista,” Reiner began, but he was cut off by a sharp turn of a head and scalding blue eyes.

“That’s not my name,” she said.

Well then. She really was going by her birth name then. How had that come around? “I’m sorry. Historia. What made you so mad at Ymir that had you focused on Connie?”

“None of your business, that’s what.”

“And nothing happened with me,” Connie added. Sasha looked hurt by his confession. “I’m okay.”

“Nothing happened with you?” Sasha asked. She sounded angry by the accusation; if Reiner didn’t know any better, he would say she was part of his denial.

Connie’s eyes widened, his brows furrowing down. “I thought that’s what you wanted. You didn’t want what we did to be real, so it’s not!”

Reiner bit back the scathing response he wanted to give. He was only trying to help, and he could have been a terrible friend and not cared and let them kill each other. At the very least, he could stop them from reaching that level. “Okay. Anyone else wanna make a confession?”

He looked around the room, but no one made a step forward. For once, since the arguments had started, there was silence. No one wanted to rehash what the night had brought. He didn’t blame them; no one wanted to talk about the past. But he wanted to help them and make things better, no matter how difficult it was.

“Hey Eren, you should tell ‘em about your bra.”

Armin’s drunken decree from the back door added a layer of tension across the room. Eren looked green; Mikasa was torn between anger and sorrow. Reiner turned to see Armin leaning against the door and tripping over his feet. Bert stopped him from falling on his face and tried to move him out of the room, but the damage was done, and Armin was stubborn.

“Everyone needs to know! You shouldn’t hide it!”

“That’s not your call, Armin,” Reiner said. His voice was at a dangerously low level; the safety of his friends came first. If Eren wanted to say something about his gender, or about whatever was under his clothes, that was his choice to make. Armin had taken that away from him, even if he didn’t mean to, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

Armin frowned at his comment. “But—”

“No, Armin!”

He shut up quickly. Even Bert had been startled by the outburst. Whatever thin line that had been stopping him from interfering was gone. Armin’s comments were the last straw, and he wouldn’t be able to deal with himself if he stayed silent.

“I thought I cared enough to find out what was going on with all of you, but I don’t think I do,” he said. “Not if it’s going to cause even more drama between us. We’re in college now. We shouldn’t be acting like middle schoolers.”

“Your word means nothing,” Ymir said, just as cold as before the fight. “You and Bert were jerking each other off all night.”

“Were we? Were you there when we saw Eren hit Mikasa’s hand away? Or when Jean came running to us because he was scared he hurt Marco? Or even better, were you there when Armin stumbled out of the house, drunk off his mind, and Sasha came right after, looking for Marco?” Ymir looked embarrassed to have her claim turned down, but she stayed quiet. “Don’t try to make it seem like I don’t care about anyone here, because you would be dead wrong. I’ve worried about all of you for the entire night. And you know I have absolutely no reason to lie to you.”

A door down the hallway opened, and Mina stepped out of the room, Annie right behind her. There was a bundle of hickeys on Annie’s neck, and her hair was out of its bun. Mina looked a bit more put together, but she made it just as clear that Sasha’s claim had been accurate.

Mina sheepishly looked over at Annie as she stepped closer to the front door. Thankfully, she caught the hint from the atmosphere. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” Annie nodded, her gaze glued on Reiner. He held it just as fiercely as she did. He waited until Mina had left to speak.

“Did you have fun?” He asked.

Annie glared at him. “Why do you want to know?”

“Can’t I be curious?”

“No. You and Bert pissed me off, so I went to do my own thing.” She stole a glance at Mikasa, whose eyes had lingered on her since she had entered the room, and the gray eyes flickered away.

The irony hit Reiner hard. He barked out a laugh at her words, earning a suspicious look from her. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were allowed to ask about everyone’s business. You know, like how every single person in this room had something to say about me and Bert and how we should fuck already, or how long it’s taken us to date and how we already act like a married couple, but I can’t ask about your relationships.” Reiner shrugged, not caring that he sounded petty or hurt, because he knew he was right. He could name an instance for each person where they had mentioned him and Bert being romantic or flirty—or, for some, sexy—with each other and how they needed to get over it. They couldn’t take what they dished out, and it hit a nerve.

“Some of us don’t wanna talk about what happened,” Eren mentioned softly. He still looked, and sounded, on the verge of tears. One wrong move and he would break. He was the only one Reiner felt bad for.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just saying, you guys didn’t want to leave me and Bert alone, but I ask if something’s wrong and it’s not fair of me.”

“Eren still has a point, though,” Jean mumbled.

“At this point, Jean, Eren’s the only one who deserves some slack.” He glared at Armin, who cowered under the harsh stare. “But that’s just my opinion.”

“Yeah, but what if w—” Jean broke into a coughing fit, groaning as more droplets of red fell from his nose. “Ah, fuck.”

Ymir looked at him for a brief moment in guilt before she removed Sasha’s hands from her waist. “He should be taken care of,” she stated.

“You’ve done enough,” Reiner said pointedly. Ymir didn’t protest.

“Eren and I can help him,” Mikasa offered. “We know how to take care of it.”

“Good.” He focused on Connie, who jumped when their eyes met. “What are the best sleeping arrangements?”

“We’re not sleeping downstairs?”  Krista Historia asked.

Reiner snorted crudely. “As if I would give you guys another chance to kill each other. I’m separating all of you.”

“What happened to democracy?” Annie mumbled.

“What happened to treating each other like friends and not enemies?!”

Connie sniffled and cleared his throat. “We, um, can put an air mattress in here,” he said. “There’s my bed and the basement, and I guess the couch—”

“Perfect. Since you and Historia are so close, why don’t you guys share a room?”

Historia didn’t respond. Connie nodded. “Do you want me to get the air mattress?”

“Please do. Sasha and Ymir can set it up for Jean.” He shot a warning glower towards Ymir. “Since some of us are suddenly very generous.”

“We can take the couch,” Eren said. Mikasa nodded in agreement. “That way, we can help Jean if he needs it.”

“Thanks, guys, I appreciate it,” Jean murmured. The alcohol still liked its home in him.

“Which means Annie, Marco, and Armin have the basement to themselves.” He looked at the trio and smiled, despite the sarcasm brewing in it. “Congrats, guys, you’re the only ones who don’t have to move your stuff.”

“Cool,” Annie stated coldly. She walked over to the bar and started to grab bottles.

“You need more alcohol?” Bert asked her.

“You don’t know the night I’ve had. Plus, Marco looks like he’ll need it.”

“I think that’s the last thing anyone needs.”

“Sorry, mom.” Annie gathered her selection and moved downstairs without another word.

“Don’t spill it on the carpet!” Connie yelled after her. The volume of his voice startled him, and he shrunk in on himself.

“Where are you and Bert gonna sleep?” Sasha asked. Reiner ignored her question; he wanted to get everyone else settled before he thought of himself. He could already see Bert doing the same, gently ushering Marco and helping Armin to the basement. Ymir watched Marco leave her side before Sasha, resigned to not getting a reply, tugged on her arm and led her to the kitchen for some water. Mikasa went in search of an ice pack, and Eren led Jean by the hand to the bathroom.

Reiner joined Connie at the supply closet in the hallway to grab blankets, pillows, and the air mattress. Connie worked silently in plugging it up and inflating it while Reiner cleared as much floor space as he could. The family cat Frieda—wherever she had been for the party—came out of hiding to lay on the various trash strewn around the living room. Reiner gave her a scratch under the chin. And Bert said he hated cats.

To think they had just joked about that before everything went wrong.

“The couch in the bird room is also available,” Connie offered. Sasha and Ymir distributed blankets and pillows to the other rooms.

“Don’t worry about us, Con,” Reiner said. He patted Connie’s head affectionately. “We’ll be okay.”

 

* * *

 

Marco felt like his skin was on fire.

Annie was right about the whiskey making him feel better. He wasn’t sure how Armin felt, since he was busy sitting in a pile of self-loathing and wasn’t seeking any interaction with anyone. But Marco felt good with Annie, and that was enough.

“The alcohol is making the room spin,” she grumbled. She took another lazy sip of gin. The hickeys looked nice on her skin. “God, it’s the only thing that feels good.”

Marco hummed quietly. He had lost track of time since he came downstairs, but he didn’t have the energy to care.

“Hey.” Marco looked over at Annie, who reached over and cupped his jaw. “I’m happy you didn’t go with that fucking asshole.”

“I am, too,” he said. “I think I owe Jean for getting me out of there.”

“Nah. You did it yourself.” She shifted in the bean bag chair they were sharing and shrugged. “Don’t let anyone stand for you. Do it yourself.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant. Maybe she was babbling in a drunken stupor. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing and her attitude was the only thing influenced by the alcohol. At the very least, it sounded good. “Okay.”

“Love is stupid. You don’t need it. It only hurts you. You got it? Don’t fall for anyone.” She shuddered, in what sounded like a wave of held-back tears, and grappled for Marco. He grabbed her hand, and her grasp tightened. He felt like the only thing anchoring her down to reality. “The only person you need is yourself.”

Marco saw the irony in her words, since her actions had reached for him for stability, but he didn’t say anything. He simply drank to her declaration and simmered in a drunken state of sorrow.

 

* * *

 

“Eren, just drink it—Jean, stop!”

Mikasa wanted to sleep.

There was so much she had to think about—what to do about Armin, how she was going to help Eren, why she cared so much about Annie’s hickeys or sloppy hair or the fact that she had, according to Sasha, been “going to town” with Mina. She didn’t care what Annie did with others. She didn’t even know if she liked the girl.

But before she could focus on that, she had two rather stubborn idiots to watch over.

Mikasa put the glass of water back in Eren’s hands while holding onto Jean’s wrist. If they ignored his contacts, he would wake up with red eyes and irritation that would not help his hangover. Mikasa was only trying to help them when they were sober.

“Jean, you can’t put your entire finger in your eye,” she chided.

“He’s too drunk to do it,” Eren mumbled.

“Drink your water.”

“Yeah, you should lissen to Kasa.”

“You aren’t listening either!”

Mikasa was able to instruct Jean get one contact out and in the solution, and Eren took one sip of the water to make her happy. Jean clapped for him before being promptly shocked by how much his black eye hurt. It was the first time that night Mikasa saw Eren truly laugh, and the thought panged her heart.

It would all be better in the morning. That was the only thought that kept her going.

 

* * *

 

Connie made sure that  Krista Historia was taken care of—tucked in, somewhat hydrated, comfortable—before he put his rabbit back in his cage. He crawled in next to Historia shortly after, offering her one last tissue before he turned off the light. His finger was barely on the switch before it was back and he was rushing out of bed.

“Dammit,” he mumbled. He fumbled with the nightlight in the corner of his room, hoping it wasn’t dead or ran out of batteries. “Please, I just wanna sleep—”

“Don’t worry, Connie, I got it,” Historia said. She had sat up in bed to watch his fumbling, but she offered her phone’s flashlight as a replacement. He nearly cried from the relief that flooded through him.

“Thank you so much, Tori.” He placed her phone on the opposite end of his desk, enough to stop the light from keeping them awake but enough to provide light to the room, and then he returned to bed. “You saved me there.”

“Of course, Connie.” Historia pulled the covers over them and settled again. She looked up once, over his body, and spoke again. “Why is your rabbit’s name Benjamin III?”

Connie looked over at the lop-eared rabbit nibbling on a stray piece of hay and shrugged. “We liked the name Benjamin, but it needed something to make it fancy. So we added ‘the third’ to the end so everyone would know he’s the real deal.”

Historia laughed. Connie was taken back by the sound and eyed her with surprise, but she just scooted closer to him. “You’re too good for this world, Connie.”

He was glad someone thought so.

 

* * *

 

Ymir took the third pillow from Sasha and fluffed it properly. The other girl only groaned in protest and adjusted the blankets. It was the one thing she could do.

“Why are you so focused on the pillows?” She wondered.

“Because Jean deserves it,” Ymir answered bluntly.

“Weren’t you trying to beat him up, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“People change.”

“Mmm, or you feel bad.”

Ymir halted in her pillow fluffing. She hated the implication—she was a strong ass Aquarius, affected by nothing—and a dumb blond boy with a stupid ass French name had gotten to her. And not because she suddenly loved him—thinking of herself as a straight could be a good Halloween costume—but because he wanted the most for the person she saw as her best friend. And that person was his best friend as well, so she felt a tiny bit—very—bad for hurting Jean. Maybe more.

But the past was the past. There was not much she could do about it now.

 

* * *

 

“Reiner, come on.”

Jean had just come into the room, and Eren was burrowing into the blankets, Mikasa right behind her brother. Reiner wanted to stay and make sure everything was alright—he had heard Eren scream and seen the rush to get the tarantula back in her terrarium. He wanted to make sure it was alright before he left.

“Reiner—”

“Alright, I’m coming,” he sighed. Reiner let Bert lead him to the backyard, checking that Spike was inside as he went. The early summer night provided a refreshing wave of pleasure, calming the tension he had wound himself up with.

Bert sat down on one of the lawn chairs and pulled Reiner to join him. They had decided, almost silently, that they would figure out where everyone else was going before they did anything for themselves. They were the only two who were unaffected by arguing; it was the least they could do.

“I can’t believe we’re about to sleep on a lawn chair,” Reiner said. He shifted on his side until he was comfortable laying in it. Bert had to move his legs a few more times, probably to avoid stiff limbs, but he cozied up close to Reiner immediately. It made him feel a bit better.

“At the very least,” Bert mumbled softly, “we can relax together.”

“I wouldn’t call this relaxing, but I don’t mind that much,” he admitted with a nuzzle into the crook of Bert’s neck, “since I get to be with you.”

“You’re sweet. Thank you.” He kissed his forehead and shut his eyes. “Maybe, in the morning, things will just automatically be better.”

“I hope so.” He truly did. He had no faith in those words, but he hoped he was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this was in Reiner's POV, I wanted to make it true to his character, so I never wrote Bertholdt's full name lmaoooo


	10. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve teenagers fight at a post-high school party. The end result will shock you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll and feel confident about this chapter HERE YOU GO

_How did we get here?_

It was a reasonable question. Bertholdt wanted to think so, at least. Last night felt so distant and muddled with events. He and Reiner didn’t even know half of what happened.

Reiner let out a long sigh before he nodded. “Alright. Are we doing this?”

“I feel better talking about it now,” Eren offered, but he—they—glanced over at Historia. “Unless you wanna go first.”

 ~~Krista~~ Historia broke out of a daze and shook her head. “Oh, no, yours is more important.”

“Well, yours is important too!”

“It’s all important in its own way,” Reiner butted in before a separate argument started. “Let’s just—not fight over who has more problems. Okay?”

Silence returned to the room. Mikasa, sat across from Eren, reached a hand across the table in offering. Eren brought their hands together with the hand not tangled with Bertholdt’s.

“I guess I’ll go first,” they said. Historia nodded and offered a reassuring smile from the other end of the table. “Um. I’ve sorta struggled with my gender for a while. I thought sports would help me figure it out, but I never felt right. And I got scared because, like, when I came out as gay, that should have been enough, right? But gender is way different than who you like.” They separated their hand from Bertholdt to run through their hair, letting out a soft chuckle. “I thought I could handle it.”

“Is it alright to call you Eren?” Reiner asked. “Or do you wanna go by something else?”

“Eren’s still fine. I like my name. I just don’t know what gender fits me.”

“Alright. Cool. So…” Bertholdt saw the question on Reiner’s mind, but he held it back. He didn’t want to push Eren; they were the only one who worried the couple the most. And after Armin outed them, one wrong wording could ruin it.

Eren saved him the trouble, probably reading the question on his face, and smiled sadly. “Yeah, last night was…messy.” They pulled their hands back into their lap, but quickly returned them to the table, crossed and pressed together. “I stole Mikasa’s bra to see how it felt. And Armin and I were, um…” They trailed off, looking to Armin for permission to continue. The blond looked ready to break—Bertholdt hadn’t noticed the surfacing of the guilt from what he had done.

Armin opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it just as quickly. He and Mikasa were the first ones to find out about Eren’s sexuality. He was supposed to be the top supporter for Eren, and after last night, he had compromised that relationship. It was etched on his face and on the pain that still dwindled in Eren’s.

“We were fooling around, I guess, and he found it. And I got scared because I thought that he would reject me, and he’s so important to me that I didn’t want to think about losing him. So I ran.” Their eyes found Mikasa’s with a nervous chuckle. “Just like when I hit your hand. Which I’m sorry for, by the way.”

“I already figured that was why,” she whispered with a faint smile. Bertholdt didn’t have to guess that she had already forgiven him; it was clear on her features.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Sasha asked Eren. “We wouldn’t have rejected you.”

“All I knew was that you guys were cool with Hanji,” they admitted. “I was afraid it’d be different if one of us didn’t fit into gender norms.”

“That makes sense,” Ymir shrugged. “Nanaba felt the same way. She waited to tell Mike even though he accepted Hanji.”

Eren nodded. “Yeah, exactly. Hanji’s one person and not in this friend group. I felt like it would be different.”

“We still love you,” Mikasa stated firmly. The glare she sent across the table warned anyone who wanted to challenge her statement. No one did, though Bertholdt doubted anyone would have. Eren was special to all of them; they all wanted them to be happy, no matter their identity.

“Thank you for telling us,” Reiner smiled. “And try not to worry yourself over it, okay? You have time.”

Eren nodded and sunk into their seat, done. He looked up at Historia, who shifted uneasily. When a few more pairs of eyes followed, she cleared her throat.

“I guess I should go next, huh,” she said.

“If you want,” Reiner offered. “You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s okay. The sooner I get it over with, the better.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Bertholdt informed her. “But if you want to, the opportunity is there.”

Historia thought on it for a second. “I’ll do it. You guys deserve some type of an explanation.” Reiner gestured for her to go when she was ready, and she sat up straight. “So I’m finally going to go by my birth name now. I don’t want to live a lie anymore. And since I’m doing that, I want to actually get better and help myself. So I’m going to get myself tested for bipolar, even though I’m pretty sure I already have it.”

“Does that have to do with why your two names?” Connie asked, genuinely curious. Reiner shut his eyes; Bertholdt hoped that Historia didn’t take it the wrong way.

Historia’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not how bipolar works, Rishaan. Being bipolar means I’m either very manic or very depressed, and I need to take medication to help control them.”

“So…you feel like a different person?”

She scoffed. “You might as well call me crazy, because it’s a lot easier than your dumbass questions.”

“You’re thinking of borderline personality disorder,” Mikasa helped him out. She glared at ~~Krista~~ Historia for her lack of patience. “Bipolar disorder is different. You have a moment of either high or low energy.”

“Oh.” Connie looked down at his pizza. “Sorry, Tori.”

Historia let out a quiet sigh. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for snapping. I don’t know much about it either. I only know what my sister’s told me.”

“Frieda has it too?” Marco wondered. His voice sounded clearer than it had last night; it made Bertholdt feel a bit better, especially with the lack of conflict between Connie and Historia.

“Yeah, she got it from our dad’s family. So there’s a chance I may have it.”

“And you said Ymir’s family is helping you with that?” Reiner asked.

Historia nodded. “She offered to help me.”

“No I didn’t,” the freckled girl said simply, biting into her pizza. Historia looked shocked, almost afraid, at her sudden declaration.

“My parents cut ties with me,” she continued, “so I need all the help I can get.”

“You do.”

“And Ymir offered her—”

“I never said any such thing. Get your words out of my mouth.”

Marco eyed the two of them suspiciously; Historia lowered her head and sunk in on herself. There had to be more to that story than they were telling. One of them had to be holding back the truth, and from what Bertholdt could gather from Historia, it was not her.

Reiner, seeing the concern as well, leaned forward to try and salvage what he could from the conversation. “So when you two met last night—”

Ymir cut him off, tossing the remains of her pizza on her plate. “I don’t want to repeat myself, so listen up,” she threatened. “Historia and I met for a little while for some chips and dip. Then we left each other alone. That’s it.”

“I thought you came to us because you tried to ask her out and it failed.”

Ymir looked close to pouncing across the table and strangling Reiner. He wasn’t trying to tease or be a little shit, but that didn’t matter to her. Bertholdt tried to speak up before anyone else could react, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“I need to worry about myself first,” Historia said. “That’s why I said no.” When she made eye contact with Ymir, it was with eyes brimming with tears. “I have nothing left in this place. You guys are all I have. If we can’t move past our fighting, I might lose my mind.”

“Hold on,” Reiner raised a hand, panic settling in his voice, “we’re not going to let that happen. No one is.”

“I don’t know,” Ymir yawned, “I’m tempted. All I need is Marco.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “That’s assuming I need you,” he mumbled. It wasn’t quiet enough; the room fell deadly silent. Ymir’s expression suddenly turned to heartbreak; it was the strongest emotion she ever let cross her face. Marco looked around the room, offended by the silence. “I’m sorry, was that too harsh? She beat up Jean for no reason. I told her what was wrong—she caught me leaving.”

“Wait, she saw you leave?” Jean broke in. He and Armin had been the quietest at Reiner’s end of the table for the entire morning. “Before I saw you?”

Marco nodded. “Yeah, that’s how she found out about my ex at the party.” He stole a glimpse at Connie and Sasha, both who looked away in guilt. “Which I still don’t understand how it happened in the first place.”

“To be fair, we were managing it for a long time,” Sasha pointed out. Connie nodded with her, the most he had been on her side since last night.

“Everyone who said they were coming was already there,” he added. “We don’t know how he got in.”

“Probably because you were too busy trying to get in each other’s pants,” Jean glowered at them. “Good job.”

“That’s not our fault!” Sasha yelled. “We did our best!”

“It wasn’t good enough!”

“If you hadn’t gotten scared shitless and ran away, he could have avoided him for the entire night,” Ymir seethed.

“And if you had stayed with him instead of whining to Reiner and Bertholdt about your problems, he wouldn’t have gone with his ex,” Annie piped in.

Ymir tossed a crumpled napkin across the table at Annie. “Stay out of this, bird brain. Just because you’re upset that you didn’t get to bone Mikasa last night doesn’t mean you have to get involved in everyone else’s shit.”

Annie jumped to her feet in outrage and slammed her hands on the table. “How the _fuck_ would you know what I wanted to do last night?!”

“It’s been written all over your face for the past two years!” Ymir joined her in standing, smirking at the height difference. “You thought you were being sneaky?”

“You weren’t discreet with Historia!”

“I didn’t want to be!”

“We’re already involved in each other’s shit, so both of you, stop arguing!” Reiner snapped. His own stance challenged their levels of intimidation, and they sat down begrudgingly. “It’s too late to keep one another out of our whatever problem we have. Obviously, we’re more intertwined than any of us thought.”

“I’m not stuck with you fuckers,” Ymir scoffed. “Do you think I’d let myself have only you guys as friends?”

“Who are they, Ymir?” Marco asked. Ymir fell silent, the mirth dropping from her face. “Who are your other friends?”

“You don’t know them, but trust me, they’re way better than anyone in this room.”

“Mhm. So you wouldn’t be heartbroken if I abandoned you?”

She whipped towards him. “Stop saying that! Do you want me to have a heart attack?!”

“That’s what Reiner and Bert have been trying to say!” He pointed to the couple. “They’re the only ones who have made any sense this whole time, but we would rather point fingers and yell at each other than make an effort to figure out what’s wrong! If anything, we don’t deserve them.”

“You don’t,” Reiner snorted. “I could have stayed outside all night. I didn’t have to get involved. But I care about all of you, even when we get mad at each other.” His tone turned softer, his eyes meeting Bertholdt despite the distance across the table. His hand itched to reach out and hold his. “Like Historia said before. You’re all I have.”

Both Historia and Eren—ironically, the only ones who had talked about their problems openly—were the only ones who nodded in agreement. Even Mikasa, despite her devotion to her brother, was reluctant. She had not yet faced her problem from the night before.

“It’s better to make peace,” Bertholdt said, “but it’s easier to fight. You have to put in the effort to make it work. It won’t just happen on its own.”

“And it helps to talk about it,” Eren added. “When you own up to what happened, then you can have a conversation.” They shrugged shyly. “That’s what my mom says, at least.”

Jean snorted in what was hopefully amusement. “I bet she said that to get you to confess about fighting.”

Eren smiled. “Don’t call me out like that.”

Armin looked suddenly brave enough to speak. He was the only one who hadn’t added to the conversation, despite the times he shuffled in his chair or uneasily looked away. Now, Bertholdt could see his back straighten up, his eyes batting away any water that wanted to fall. If they could reach someone, the whole morning might be worth it.

“Eren,” he started, and the person in question looked over at him patiently, “I don’t know where to begin that would be okay to start. But I want to try.”

“I do, too,” Eren said. “You’re really important to me.”

Armin breathed out in relief, a smile gracing his lips for a second. “I wanna talk about it—but not here. Somewhere, um, private.”

“Okay. We can do that.”

“Okay.”

Mikasa smiled at the brief, if momentary, resolution. It must have been a weight off her shoulders to see the two people dearest to her swear to work together.

“That’s really good, you two,” Reiner grinned. Bertholdt could feel the happiness radiating off of him from across the table. “See, it’s easy. All it takes is for one of you to make the first step.”

“Sounds difficult,” Ymir said, and then she stood up. The look on Reiner’s face instantly switched back to disappointment. “I’m out.”

“Out from what? You can’t just say that without an explanation.”

“Watch me.” She turned to leave the table, but she stopped and turned back one last time. “Whatever I did or didn’t do last night, let’s forget it never happened. I don’t have anything to talk about if nothing went wrong.” And with her decree, she went to the basement to gather her things. She didn’t even greet Spike on her way down.

Jean glanced between Armin and Eren, then to Ymir, and finally looked at Marco. He was bothered by Ymir’s departure, biting the side of his thumb and eyebrows drawn together. They were across the table from each other, but with the chair between Marco and Eren empty, Jean took his chance and made his way over to it. He waited to make eye contact with Marco before he sat down.

“I, um,” he began, running a hand through his hair, “I want to apologize for not talking to you last night. I’m really sorry.”

Marco’s eyebrows rose in surprise—he knew better than anyone else that hearing the words “I’m sorry” from Jean Kirschtein were an incredible feat—but he stayed quiet. It looked like he was listening on bated breath.

“I think that we can work through things if we, y’know, talk about them and stuff. And I want to. So…”

“Yeah,” Marco nodded. “I wanna talk about things.”

“Good. So, uh…yeah. We can talk about things.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you wanna wait until you figure things out with Ymir, or…”

Marco sighed and eyed the basement door. “I want to talk with her too, but she has her own problems going on.” He looked over at Historia, who had taken to resting her head on the table. “I can’t abandon someone asking for help.”

Sasha had looked between the two before getting up and leaving to the basement. Connie watched her go, but when she went downstairs, he mimicked Historia and hid his face from the world.

Mikasa cleared her throat. “We need to clean the house,” she said and started to clear the table. “Eren, do you want to take some of the pizza home?”

“Sure,” they answered. They patted Historia and Connie on the heads as they took up the mugs of coffee, asking those who were left if they wanted to finish it before it was dumped.

Annie was torn between leaving and staying, her feet kicking the table; she eventually chose to stand, but she started tidying up the living room, folding blankets and letting the air mattress deflate. Bertholdt helped her by returning the pillows to the supply closet and putting away the blankets and mattress when she was done with them. Connie had started to help Eren with the dishes, a bit more clogged with water than before, and Armin was taking down any streamers that were still hanging. Historia dismantled their music setup in the meantime.

Mikasa and Reiner rearranged the furniture as Jean and Marco picked up anything in their way that couldn’t be cleaned by the broom. Eren put away leftover food, putting some aside for them and Mikasa, and saving a few for Sasha to take. Annie found the broom and swept the floor, while Bertholdt and Armin dumped the clumps into Connie’s trash bag. It was a quiet effort to restore normalcy to an otherwise perfect home, even if they couldn’t be perfect, even if some of them didn’t have a perfect home to go to.

Ymir returned upstairs and said nothing, walking straight out the door without another word to them. Sasha did the same, saying her thanks to Eren for saving her some leftovers before she too left. Mikasa drove Eren and Armin back; before she left, she hugged Reiner tightly.

“Thank you for trying,” she whispered. “You did your best, and I appreciate it.”

“Thanks,” he replied. The embrace he returned was equally tight; Bertholdt wondered if he wanted her to leave.

Bertholdt helped Eren and Armin pack Mikasa’s car before saying goodbye. He sent them off with a bottle of water each and a reminder that they could talk to him if they needed someone to rant to. Their responses were ones of thanks, not just for the offer, but for everything he had done. Armin seemed a little more thankful, judging by the fact that Bert had been the one treating him. But he didn’t comment on it.

Marco and Historia sat on the front steps together, talking quietly in whispers. Marco’s mother was more than happy to let Historia stay at their house until college started. They didn’t have a lot, but they made up for it in their time together and with those they cared about. Plus, Marco’s pit bull Chico would be happy to have one more person to demand pets and treats from.

With Sasha gone, Jean lingered with Connie while he waited for his mom. Bertholdt offered to take him home, but he turned the offer down.

“I’m gonna stay here and make sure everything looks good before I go,” he said. Bertholdt doubted he would be doing any cleaning, as he rubbed Spike’s belly and chatted with Connie. Probably about Sasha.

“Remember when Connie wanted to ask Sasha out?” Reiner mumbled to him when they got to the car. They were waiting for Annie to come out to the car before they left. Bertholdt scoffed at the reminder; it felt like so long ago.

“I was really hoping last night would be fun.”

Reiner simpered at him. “You, the introvert, wanted to have a good party.”

“I had fun with you.” Reiner looked over at him, and Bertholdt smiled. “We’re a pretty good couple.”

Their hands found each other automatically. “If you weren’t with me through all of this, I might have lost my mind.”

“I know. You need someone to keep you grounded, for the moments you can’t do it yourself.”

Reiner hummed in agreement; Annie tossed her duffel bag in the backseat and plopped down. “You ready, Leonhardt?”

“I guess I am,” she sighed. Bertholdt didn’t think she and Mikasa would keep quiet for long. It was in their nature to not hold grudges. Annie only said she did to push a few buttons.

Bertholdt pulled away from the house. The drive felt longer than the few streets they had had to drive. Reiner had broken their hands apart so he could drive, and he curled into the passenger seat. Annie fidgeted with her jacket; it wasn’t her trademark hoodie, but the zipper and pockets were able to distract her for the time being. Any other time, Bertholdt would have appreciated the silence. But it wasn’t a silence that should be praised. It was a poisonous smog that filled his lungs and clouded his mind. Even if it was quiet, it made room for all the events that had taken place before, all the worries that had made his night restless.

“I have a thing for Mikasa,” Annie suddenly admitted. They were two blocks away from her house; she must have figured to talk before she left them. “I like her a lot. I kissed her last night, and I used Mina as a distraction.”

Reiner and Bertholdt stayed silent. They came to a stop sign; Bertholdt let the cars go and went when the path was clear. Reiner, who he thought had been snoozing, was suddenly alert.

“Did she kiss you back?”

“No. I didn’t give her time to explain, because I could already see she didn’t want what I wanted.”

Reiner let out a long sigh and fell against the seat. “Oh, Annie.”

“I already know I’m an idiot. I got scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Bertholdt told her.

“I’m going to talk to her about it. Once she and Armin are good. I don’t wanna overwhelm her.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

“Yeah.” Bertholdt pulled up to her house, but she didn’t get out. Her dad was waiting for her on the front steps, their corgis Chloe and Nikki perking up at the familiar car that stopped in front of the house. “I wanna thank you guys for what you did at Connie’s house. It was nice of you to give us that chance, because you didn’t have to.”

“We just want everyone to be okay,” Reiner said. “That’s all we want.”

“Yeah, well. For some people, that’s just too much to ask for.” She opened the door, paused, and then pressed a kiss on both of their cheeks. “Not for me, though.” She finally stood up, turning one last time before shutting the door. “And if you tell anyone I have emotions, I’ll kill you.”

That got a laugh out of both of them—Annie was not truly Annie until she denied ever having feelings—and Bertholdt waited until she made it up the hill to her house. Her dogs circled her in greeting with happy yaps, and Chloe tried to jump into her arms. Annie was a bit preoccupied in hugging her dad, a little longer and a little tighter than any normal hug. Bertholdt drove away to give them space.

A month later, Marco invited them via group chat to a get-together at his house for his birthday. It would be the twelve of them and Chico, a day before his family was expected to arrive from Puerto Rico. Carla Jaeger had convinced her patron to let her leave for a week, so her visit and break from work meant that Eren—who wanted to use he/him/his for now—and Mikasa were unable to make it. They scheduled a night for the three of them after their respected families left. Marco was more than happy to reschedule for them.

Historia, still staying at Marco’s, sent teasing pictures of Chico to convince them to go. Reiner and Bertholdt were already going; Annie’s stomach was bothering her, but she still made it for Marco. She threatened him to tell no one about her caring about him, and he promised not to. Jean hadn’t responded to any of the texts, but only because Marco didn’t need an answer from him. Reiner guessed they had started dating and went into a two-hour long rant on why they were together when Bertholdt doubted him. Armin lamented on the chaos of the group chat, but he promised an impressive gift this year, to which Marco shamed him for tempting him so easily.

Ymir didn’t respond. She didn’t attend the party. Sasha and Connie commented here and there, but it was different from their interactions. According to Jean, Sasha had been hit with a bad cold out of nowhere and sticking to Gatorade and Ritz crackers, and Connie was caught up babysitting. Why the Springers wouldn’t let Tommy, the second oldest, watch the twins was anyone’s guess.

The last interactions in the Y2K12 group chat were about Marco’s party. All twelve were present at the party hosted at Mike’s house at the end of July, but the interactions were strange. Eren and Levi were friendly with each other; Sasha and Connie were running around the yard thanks to the Jell-O shots they had thrown back. Historia, wanting to keep her medicine levels even, stayed away from alcohol and watched over everyone with Reiner and Bert the entire night. Ymir hung around Nanaba, with occasional words to Marco and Mikasa, but she stayed distant from them.

It felt wrong. Their friendship wasn’t built for distance and ignoring each other. Whatever was keeping them apart, Bertholdt hoped, was going to be put to an end soon. If not, the escapades of “Y2K12” were over.


	11. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Here it is. The last chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story! I think it's grown the fastest out of my stories in terms of visibility, and I am so grateful for those who have stuck through.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story! And if you enjoyed this modern storyline, don't worry—there's more to come ;)

It took five months for the group chat to return.

**_sashay:_ ** __ ahem  
_ hello is this thing on  
_ __ testing one two

**_miriam:_ ** __ ???  
_ well hello  
_ __ shit when was the last time i wrote in this thing

**_eerien:_ ** _ new phone who dis  
_ _ idk no ymir _

**_miriam:_ ** _ fuck u eren come up here and fight me _

**_eerien:_ ** _ i hate snow fukc you _

**_jean boi:_ ** _ tbh the heat isn’t any better down here _

**_eerien:_ ** _ shut up and finish your paper  
_ _ i see u slackin _

**_sashay:_ ** __ welp  
_ good to know nothings changed  
_ __ if only i had my dog to distract me WHILE YOU IDIOTS FIGHT

**_the con man:_ ** _ its all part of teh plan  
_ _ typo unintended _

“Bert!” Reiner barreled into his dorm room without a second thought. Luckily, his roommate Luis was at band practice and grabbing dinner for them afterward. “It’s back! We’re alive! Everyone still likes each other!”

“I saw, Reiner,” he answered, barely looking up from the homework he was working on. Reiner scrambled up the bed to cuddle him, typing back furiously on his phone.

**_reinerd:_ ** _ MY GAY HEART IS SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW  
_ _ AJGHAKJFHASDGA _

**_annie:_ ** _ ugh just block me now _

**_the con man:_** **_*rainbow emoji*_** _OUR FRIENDSHIP FLOURISHES_

**_annie:_ ** _ I Want Death _

**_mika:_ ** _ Hi Connie _

**_the con man:_** **_*kissy emoji*  
_** _I MISS YOU MOMKASA  
__come to indiana pls_

**_sashay:_ ** _ if you come see us well give you snow _

**_polo:_ ** __ You know  
__ I really didn’t expect to get out of band and see this hot mess  
_ But at the same time  
_ __ I’m not that surprised

**_the con man:_ ** _ oh my god its the freckled god _

**_polo:_** **_*purple heart emoji*  
_**_I miss you guys!_

**_miriam:_ ** _ out of everyone here, i miss you the least robodt _

**_polo_ ** _ :  _ **_*kissy-face emoji x2* *red heart emoji*_ **

**_miriam:_ ** _ actually scratch that its reiner  
_ _ @ reiner fuck you _

**_reinerd:_ ** _ THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY I DON’T EVEN CART _

**_tori:_ ** _ i cart about you too _

**_reinerd:_ ** _ historia pls  
_ _ dont betray me like this _

“You need to respond,” Reiner begged. He prodded his leg for good measure.

“I’m busy,” Bertholdt reminded him, “but I get to read them from my computer, so I’m really not missing out on anything.”

Reiner shut his computer, smiling innocently when his boyfriend glared at him. “Now how are you going to read them?”

“I can ask Eren and Jean for a recap.”

“Sorry, that’s forbidden.”

Bertholdt put his laptop aside, knowing Reiner was going to refuse to leave him alone about this until he got his way, and splayed out on the bed. Reiner, excited, kissed his cheek repeatedly in thanks.

**_eerien:_ ** _ armin you have ten seconds to respond before i expose you _

**_sashay:_ ** _ IS CHARMING ARMIN GHOSTING US _

**_the con man:_ ** _ why do good things happen to good people _

**_me:_ ** _ I highly doubt any of us are good people _

**_sashay:_ ** _ oh my gOD ITS BERTL _

**_annie:_ ** _ hi bert i still hate you _

**_me:_ ** _ I know you reminded me last night _

**_eerien:_ ** _ ARMIN IW AS SERIOUS IN MY THREAT  
_ _ STOP TEXTING ME AND RESPOND TO US _

**_charmin’:_ ** _ I’M BUSSY _

**_eerien:_ ** __ thats a lie  
_ annie mika help me out  
_ __ #exposearmin2k15

**_annie:_** **_image  
_**_hashtag exposed_

**_charmin’:_ ** _ Thanks Annie  
_ _ Really got my best angle _

**_tori:_ ** _ Armin you cut your hair????? _

**_charmin’:_ ** _ Yes? Did you not know?? _

**_tori:_ ** _ No!!! _

**_sashay:_ ** _ i didnt know either this is biphobic _

**_jean boi:_ ** _ i knew about it _

**_sashay:_ ** _ jean not now ur not helping _

“When did Armin get his hair cut?” Bertholdt asked. “Last month?”

Reiner pursed his lips. “I think so, yeah. We were there, remember? It was during fall break.”

“How come Historia and Sasha didn’t know?”

Reiner shrugged.

**_me:_ ** _ I think we need to have a reunion _

**_the con man:_ ** __ i agree  
_ it has been too long my dudes i miss all of you  
_ __ ive forgotten your voices

**_jean boi:_ ** _ you literally bashed my snapchat story yesterday _

**_the con man:_ ** _ i dont know what youre talking about _

**_jean boi:_ ** _ YOU REPLIED TO IT  
_ **_image_ **

**_sashay:_ ** _ the proof is in the pudding _

**_the con man:_ ** _ STOP EXPOSING ME LIKE THIS _

**_polo:_ ** _ I Facetimed you last week???? _

**_jean boi:_ ** _ sorry babe looks like it NEVER HAPPENED _

**_polo_ ** _ :  _ **_*shrug emoji*_ **

**_miriam:_ ** _ hold the fucking phone  
_ _ babe????? _

**_annie:_ ** _ Okay now i need to say it  
_ _ We need to meet up. _

xxx

Thanksgiving was difficult to use as a meet-up date, since not everyone had the same amount of days off and Historia and Ymir were too far north to make the trip. But when Erwin sent out invitations for the annual winter party, it was decided—in the rejuvenated Y2K12 group chat—that their reunion would happen there. Bertholdt didn’t mind, despite the usual anxiety that rose inside him at the thought of how many people were going to be there. It was Eren who worried him more.

Two months before, he had officially come out for his gender. And while he hadn’t told all of their friends, he was using the party to tell everyone at the party. It resulted in him frantically texting the four friends who went to the same college for some type of guidance.

**_eerien:_ ** _ alright listen up losers  
_ _ i need your attention stat _

**_jean boi:_ ** _ we saw you ten minutes ago _

**_eerien:_ ** __ I DIDNT NEED YOU THEN.  
**_image  
_ ** __ which one should i wear for the holiday party

**_polo:_ ** _ Red! _

**_me:_ ** _ I like both of them, but the red fits the season _

**_reinerd:_ ** _ i second that!  
_ _ Maroon looks good on you bud _

**_eerien:_** **_*red heart emoji*_** _thank you  
__Bert can i steal your boyf_

**_me:_ ** _ You can have him. _

**_reinerd:_** **_*broken heart emoji*_**

**_me:_ ** _ How are you feeling Eren? _

**_eerien:_ ** __ ive only thrown up twice so far so  
**_image  
_ ** __ okay heres the final product

**_jean boi:_ ** _ daaaaamn  
_ _ ten out of ten _

**_polo:_** **_*screaming face emoji*_**

**_reinerd:_ ** _ i have no words you look amazing _

**_me:_ ** _ Definitely the right choice :)  
_ _ Are you going to put your hair back? _

**_eerien:_ ** _ yea prolly  
_ _ itll make more sense for everyone i think _

**_reinerd:_ ** _ you got this!!! we support you!!! _

Ever since they had started classes, the five of them had been by each other’s side, supporting each other and being there to help in times of stress. It had been hard for Bertholdt to adjust, and Jean and Marco were still unsure of how to act with each other. August was rough, but they came out alright in the end, and Bertholdt liked to think they were closer because of it.

Eren had come to trust them greatly, so it didn’t surprise Bertholdt when Eren asked for their opinion on which outfit to wear. Mikasa had to put in special requests with Petra, who learned how to make her own clothes thanks to her tailor father, and then “accidentally” leave the clothes in Eren’s dorm room when she came for a visit. So far, no one noticed, and Eren was too nervous to wear them outside of his room, but his demeanor was much different when he was wearing clothes that might not be classed as masculine.

Bertholdt and Reiner picked Eren and Mikasa up from their house and drove to Erwin’s for the annual holiday party. Eren had been fidgeting in the back seat for the entire ride, but at least they were identifying with the way they wanted.

The house Erwin had inherited from his father was rather modest, and the lighting was warm and inviting. The smells of appetizers and the sound of laughter were pleasant to hear, although a bit nerve-wracking. Historia and Annie were in the foyer and chatting at the stairs, and they turned when the four walked in.

Historia’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, Eren, you look amazing!” She enthused and embraced him with a wide grin. Eren let out a breath and thanked her, sharing the compliment.

Annie greeted Mikasa with a nod of her head, but she grimaced when Reiner waved to her with overt enthusiasm. “Gross,” she mumbled.

“I made brownies for you,” Bertholdt reminded her, and she squinted at his betrayal. “I could keep them for myself.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Not if I eat them first!” Sasha declared, zooming in from the right with arms outstretched. Reiner grabbed her in a giant hug and spun her around.

“You’re still not allowed near them,” he laughed.

Sasha huffed, “The only thing stopping me from eating them right now is societal norms and you know it!”

Bertholdt was able to maneuver the food to the kitchen without interference. He greeted Levi—who was looking mildly more comfortable and willing to converse, strangely enough—and Hanji as he passed. Reiner was caught in a conversation with Mike and Erwin, and Levi actually started a conversation with him, so he saw no wrong in stopping to chat.

“Are you surviving alright in the depths of the Deep South?” Hanji asked with a light smirk, stirring the wine in their glass.

“It stayed hot until mid-October, but it’s been alright,” he said. “It was pretty hard to adjust, but I think I got better.”

Hanji laughed quietly. “And I heard you made a new friend too!”

“Oh,” Bertholdt smiled, “you heard about Luis?”

“Eren raved about him,” Levi clarified. “They’re proud of you.”

Bertholdt looked away when he felt his cheeks glow red. “Ah, yeah, Reiner is too. I don’t know, I just feel more comfortable? I mean, I still get super anxious, and I still have to take medicine, but I guess it’s…”

“Bearable?” Hanji offered.

“Yeah. I feel good.”

Hanji cheered and hugged them, despite Levi’s scolding, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “All it takes is a little shove out the nest, and you’re on your way to success.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Reiner, laughing at something from the other room, entered the kitchen in a near-stumble. When he saw Bertholdt, his expression turned grave. “Oh no,” he murmured. “They got you, too.”

Bertholdt was about to ask for clarification, but Levi was shoving Reiner towards the back door and Hanji was chattering away. “Of course, the ones who do the pushing have already been the ones pushed out, so we’re all caught in the cycle.”

“Bert, it’s a trap!” Reiner frowned. “They’re ambushing us!”

“I never got pushed,” Levi pointed out. He glanced at Bertholdt, who tensed up from the chilling stare. “I’m just tired of these shitstains avoiding each other.”

Oh. Bertholdt caught on quite quickly to their plan and tried to stop himself in his tracks. “Okay, whoever told you that we were involved got it wrong,” he tried to explain. “Reiner and I are—”

“Mediators who got caught in everyone else’s issues, yeah, yeah,” Hanji waved at him. “That’s why we’re sending you in!” Mike—when the hell did he get there—opened the back door for them, revealing the ten others who had been forced out in the December evening, and Reiner and Bertholdt stumbled out onto the deck.

“No one eats until you make up!” Levi demanded. He looked around at each of them—Bertholdt was surprised that everyone in the Y2K12 group chat had made it—and scoffed. “Get it together already. We’re tired of you mopey fucks.”

The sliding glass door was shut, the blinds were drawn, and they were left out on the deck.

Annie was already lazily smoking a cigarette; she must have been out there for a while, judging by the length of the stick between her fingers. “I’m surprised you two got dragged out here,” she commented.

“We’re the mediators,” Reiner scoffed, pulling up a deck chair and plopping down in it. His arms wrapped around Bertholdt instantly to hold him in his lap. “But I learned my lesson from last time, so I’ll just be here with Bert and watch.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Armin said. He was stood next to Eren, the two who must have made the most physical changes to their appearance. With Armin’s short hair and Eren’s choice of dress, they looked far from the two best friends who had made out by the stairs and ran from each other.

Reiner shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to say. I made my peace.”

“You don’t think we have?” Ymir snorted. Bertholdt hadn’t seen her since the summer party in July, but he hadn’t talked to her since the party on Marigold Boulevard. According to Historia, the two of them had made amends with one another and were better than ever.

“You didn’t go to Marco’s birthday party,” Historia pointed out. “Remember?”

Ymir scowled and curled her feet up to her chest, leaning back in the chair opposite Reiner. “I know.”

“I missed you,” Marco said with a frown. Jean was sat behind him on the deck’s railing, thin legs framing Marco.

“I had a lot to think about. Reevaluating my life and shit like that.” Ymir shrugged. “I made a promise to myself that I wasn’t going to talk to you guys until I figured out what was wrong with me.”

“And?”

Ymir traced a pattern on the armrest of the deck chair. Bertholdt noticed her hair was much shorter than usual and had a purple tint to it. When had she dyed it? “I cared way too much about myself. And I wasn’t managing my time because of it. I forgot that you guys had your own lives…or whatever.” She glanced over at Historia, who smiled in reassurance at her, before turning away. “

“You forgot something,” Historia teased softly.

Ymir snorted and bowed her head to hide her face. “No, I didn’t.”

Historia rolled her eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell them.”

“I don’t wanna talk about my lady friend!”

“You have a lady friend?!” Connie practically hollered, hopping off of the table adjacent to theirs. Sasha joined him in celebrating—which was still odd. Bertholdt couldn’t remember them making up.

Ymir pulled out her phone and opened up a photo before passing it around. Despite her apparent reluctance, she was eager to show everyone who she was referring to: a girl with short brown hair and cinnamon-colored eyes, and a friendly smile. “Her name is Emma. She’s a chemical engineering major, and she likes cats.”

“They’re really cute, you guys!” Historia exclaimed.

“We’re not officially dating,” Ymir cut in before the tiny blonde said anymore, “but she took me out for dinner and didn’t let me pay, so…”

“That’s getting serious,” Mikasa remarked, passing Ymir’s phone to Armin and Eren. She offered a small smile to Ymir. “Good for you.”

“Oh wow, she’s cute,” Armin commented.

“I thought you and Historia were going to work through things,” Eren said.

“We did,” Historia nodded. “We just figured it would be better to not date.”

“Yeah, we have too much shit between each other,” Ymir added. “We’d rather focus on being friends.”

“And now that I’m living with her, it’s a lot easier!”

“Oh yeah, you were getting tested for bipolar,” Sasha said. “How did that go? You never told me and Connie.”

One of the main issues surrounding that June party, Historia cleared her throat and shifted in her chair. “Well, I sleep a little more, and I don’t have rough mood swings as often. And the lithium hasn’t messed with my body yet, so I’m doing alright.”

“So you have bipolar?” Reiner assumed.

Historia nodded, albeit a bit uneasy. “Yeah. I’m the Carrie Fisher of Y2K12. May the Force be with you.” She winked at Marco for the reference, and he suppressed a giggle, leaning back into Jean. “And even though there’s no known cure right now, I can still live a happy life, especially with the help that’s available for me.”

“Which is still awesome,” Eren added.

Historia laughed. “It’s still awesome.” Bertholdt had already talked to the two of them about getting matching tattoos to symbolize their struggle with their mental health and their perseverance that came after. If all went well, they would get them done over the summer.

Eren toyed with the hem of their dress and smoothed it out. “I guess I should go next, huh?”

“We’re not going in order,” Annie pointed out.

Eren scowed at her. “Fine, you go!”

“I have nothing to share. Mikasa and I already talked about our shit.”

Mikasa nodded in confirmation, though her sibling looked less convinced. “You’re not toying with her?”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know!”

“Geez, you’re just as protective of her as she is of you.”

Eren crossed their arms and scoffed at Annie. Bertholdt remembered the conversation he and Reiner had with Eren when the news came that Annie had clarified what she had done in June. Mikasa was satisfied with it, but Eren had an entire conspiracy theory on it. “Don’t call me out like that.”

“What were you going to say, Eren?” Armin cut in. If he hadn’t said something, Reiner was going to butt in. Instead, he relaxed against Bertholdt and listened patiently.

When the attention was drawn on them, Eren shifted. “Uhh. Y’know, just that I figured out I was genderqueer. Or whatever. Nothing too important.”

“It’s very important,” Reiner mumbled, hiding it behind a fake cough. Bertholdt slapped the arm around his waist.

They shrugged; “I mean, I guess.”

“What does ‘genderqueer’ mean?” Connie wondered. “Is it similar to being non-binary?”

“They’re related, but non-binary is more of an umbrella term.” Eren scratched his neck in absent thought. “In a way, I’m non-binary, because I don’t feel like my gender fits into the binary system. But I identify as genderqueer because I feel like I can,” they raised their hands for air quotes, “‘queer gender.’”

“Ohhh.” Connie nodded in understanding. “Cool.”

“Yeah. I don’t really care about pronouns, because they all sorta fit me, but if you can use ‘she’ and ‘her’ when I wanna act more feminine, that would be good.”

Sasha smirked, “You got some bodyguards with you.”

“Yeah, if we were bigoted assholes, we would be dead right now,” Ymir chuckled. Eren raised an eyebrow at her comment, and she gestured to Reiner and Bertholdt. The latter hadn’t even noticed his rather harsh glaring and instantly toned it down; Reiner barely flinched.

“I wanna make sure he’s safe,” he admitted. “Sue me.”

Eren laughed under their breath. “Yeah, those two have really helped me out. And Jean and Marco.” They added the last part, probably because Jean opened his mouth to protest. “They helped me pick out this dress for tonight.”

It truly was a pretty dress—maroon and fitting to their form, the bell sleeves beginning at their elbows and adding an enchanting elegance to their look. A cinch in the middle of the dress emphasized their waist. The green one was a bit similar in that it fit Eren well, but the sleeves didn’t billow out under his arms, and it was a bit shorter. Plus, the skirt of the maroon dress had a slight more added to it, where if Eren spun, it would flare out and spin around them in a perfect arch. Bertholdt could tell Eren felt comfortable in it.

“Yeah, you look hella good,” Sasha complimented. Eren grinned and laughed.

“So the two pairs of boyfriends helped you out with that?” Ymir teased.

Reiner and Bertholdt didn’t react much to her words, but Jean and Marco had more to say.

“Don’t call us out like that,” Jean snapped.

“Uh-huh. How long?”

“Since mid-July,” Marco said. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to make you mad.”

Ymir pursed her lips at that. “You would never make me mad, idiot. I wanna hear how you’re doing. You’re basically my little brother.”

Marco laughed; “I thought you hated Puerto Ricans.”

“Yeah, well, I do! You’re just the exception.” Ymir stuck her tongue out at him, but she turned serious for a brief moment. “You’re not obligated to tell me anything. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Her eyes flickered to Jean, who instantly turned away and toyed with the back of Marco’s hair. “Do I have to give you a Latina talking-to?”

“No, his mom already gave me a lecture,” Jean retorted.

“At least you’re dating,” Sasha said, emphasizing the last word with a poke to Jean’s shoulder. “You two have been smitten with each other for so long, it was getting gross.”

“What about you?” Marco shot at her. “I thought you and Connie were going places.”

“We already talked, so get out of our business.”

“Yeah,” Connie joined in, “get out of our business! We’re still best friends!”

“Yeah!” The duo high-fived in triumph. Jean rolled his eyes; Marco still looked confused.

“I thought you were gonna ask Sasha out,” Reiner said.

“I was, but we pulled a Ymir and decided not to,” Connie shrugged.

“Yeah, we would rather be friends than nothing at all,” Sasha added. “Fighting’s not worth it.”

Bertholdt was relieved to hear that; Sasha had gotten away from the party as fast as she could. He was scared that a pair as dynamic and chaotic as Sasha and Connie would be permanently marked out from their group.

“What about you?” Sasha poked Armin in the cheek. “You cut your hair and told  _ no one _ about it!”

“Mikasa and I were there,” Annie offered.

“You guys don’t count.”

“It was getting hot, Sasha,” Armin defended. “And I needed a change.”

Sasha let out a drawn-out sigh but said no more. Bertholdt reminded himself to ask her about it later.

They stayed out for a few minutes more, mostly talking about menial things and relating to the struggle that college had actually provided. Bertholdt felt like the difference between them before and after their talk was drastically different. It didn’t feel exactly like it used to be, but that was okay. They were slightly different in nature, growing into adults and focusing on higher education. He could deal with a bit of change.

Connie was the first to suggest going inside, rushing inside in a blur of crimson and curly hair. Sasha skipped after him, but not without warning Jean and Marco to “not stay out too long or else your lips will freeze on each other.” Ymir lingered behind to chat with Marco, and the two shared a few words before meeting each other in an embrace, grips tight and faces buried in each other’s shoulder. The others dispersed, though Bertholdt was distracted by a nudge to Reiner and a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Did you notice how Armin and Eren were looking at each other?” He mumbled.

Bertholdt shrugged, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“There’s something there.”

Bertholdt was almost certain that it was a mere exaggeration or misunderstanding, but Reiner had felt something happen during the party in June. For now, unless he was proven otherwise, he would go along with it.

The pair pulled up the end of their friends, missing the praise that rang from inside. Once they were inside, Reiner led them to Armin and sidled up next to the shorter blond. “So, charmin’ Armin, do you feel any better after tonight?”

Armin, who had jumped slightly at the sudden presence, smiled with a slight nod. “Yeah, I think so. I’m surprised it went so well.”

“See? I told you!” Had they talked about this privately? Their conversations on a reunion had been obvious since last month, but they hadn’t discussed the specifics. “And you and Eren already worked things out, so now you can actually start clean with them.”

Armin looked away as his face turned red. Maybe Reiner’s words had some truth to them. “Uhm. We’ve talked about it, but…we’re not sure how to go forward. Because of the distance and all that.”

“Right, of course.” Reiner nudged Bertholdt cheekily. “I’m sure you two will figure it out soon.”

“I plan on it. I just wanted Eren to come out to everyone else first before we did. That way, they won’t have a lot on their plate.”

“Nice choice,” Bertholdt smiled, to which Armin gulped and hurried away as if someone had called for him.

Reiner giggled under his breath and turned to Bertholdt. “Well. That makes three of us.”

“How did you know about them being a thing?”

“I know everything.” Reiner grabbed two glasses of champagne from the nearby table and passed one over. “Mikasa clued me in just in case something happened to Eren. She mentioned something about Eren and Armin working things out, but she didn’t go into deep detail.”

“You just filled in the cracks.”

“Aww, that makes me sound evil.”

Bertholdt snorted. “I wonder why.”

Reiner clinked their glasses together with a smirk. “I’m just happy everyone’s working together. I know what it feels like to not be united. I’ll do whatever I can to get us comfortable again.”

Bertholdt liked the idea of it. Even if required a bit more energy to deal with such a large and spontaneous group, for the people involved, it was worth it.


End file.
